Qlvtu 


If  3.2- 

"  a  — 


SOME    EXPERIENCES    OF 
AN    IRISH    R.M. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHORS 

IN  MR.  KNOX'S  COUNTRY 

With  8  Illustrations  in  two  colours  by  E.  CE.  SOMERVILLB< 
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FURTHER  EXPERIENCES  OF  AN  IRISH  R,M. 

With  35  Illustrations  by  E.  CE.  SOMERVILLE. 

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SOME  IRISH  YESTERDAYS 

With  51  Illustrations  by  E.  CE.  SOMERVILLB. 

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AN  IRISH  COUSIN 
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THE   REAL   CHARLOTTE 
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THE  SILVER  FOX 
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ALL  ON  THE  IRISH  SHORE 

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IRISH  MEMORIES 

With  23  Illustrations  from  Drawings  by  E.  CE.  SOMERVILLB, 
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LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND   CO. 

LONDON,  NEW  YORK,  BOMBAY,  CALCUTTA  AND  MADRAS; 


Some  Experiences  of  an 

Irish    R.M. 


By 

E.  CE.  Somerville  and  Martin  Ross 

Authors  of  "The  Real  Charlotte,"  "  An  Irish  Cousin," 
"The  Silver  Fox,"  etc.  etc. 

With  Illustrations  by  E.  GE.  Somerville 


NEW    IMPRESSION 


LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 

39  PATERNOSTER  ROW,  LONDON 

FOURTH  AVENUE  &  3OTH  STREET,  NEW  YORK 

BOMBAY,  CALCUTTA,  AND  MADRAS 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE 

First  printed  1899;  reprinted  1859,  1900  (5  times), 

igoi  (3  times'),  igoa,  1903,  1904,  1906,  1909. 

New  and  Cheaptr  Edition  from  frtsh  type,  igio. 

Reprinted  July  1916,  November  1918. 


NOTE 

The  following  stories  appeared  originally 
in  the  pages  of  the  Badminton  Magazine, 
and  are  now  reprinted  by  the  courtesy  of 
the  Editor. 


2O581 1 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I.  GREAT-UNCLE   McCARTHY 


II.  IN  THE   CURRANHILTY   COUNTRY        ...  27 

III.  TRINKET'S   COLT        .......  50 

IV.  THE  WATERS   OF   STRIFE       .....  73 
V.  LISHEEN  RACES,   SECOND-HAND    .         .         .         .97 

VI.  PHILIPPA'S   FOX-HUNT      ......  123 

VII.A  MISDEAL.        ........  151 

VIII.  THE  HOLY  ISLAND  .......  179 

IX.  THE  POLICY  OF  THE  CLOSED  DOOR.  .  .  406 

X.  THE  HOUSE  OF  FAHY  ......  230 

XI.  OCCASIONAL  LICENSES     ......  256 

XII.  "OH  LOVE1  OH  FIRE!"  .  ,  z8i 


viii 


GREAT-UNCLE   McCARTHY 

A  RESIDENT  Magistracy  in  Ireland  is  not  an 
f\  easy  thing  to  come  by  nowadays  ;  neither  is 
it  a  very  attractive  job ;  yet  on  the  evening  when  I 
first  propounded  the  idea  to  the  young  lady  who  had 
recently  consented  to  become  Mrs.  Sinclair  Yeates, 
it  seemed  glittering  with  possibilities.  There  was, 
on  that  occasion,  a  sunset,  and  a  string  band  play- 
ing "The  Gondoliers,"  and  there  was  also  an  in- 
genuous belief  in  the  omnipotence  of  a  godfather 
of  Philippa's — (Philippa  was  the  young  lady) — who 
had  once  been  a  member  of  the  Government. 

I  was  then  climbing  the  steep  ascent  of  the  Cap- 
tains towards  my  Majority.  I  have  no  fault  to  find 
with  Philippa's  godfather  ;  he  did  all  and  more 
than  even  Philippa  had  expected  ;  nevertheless,  I 
had  attained  to  the  dignity  of  mud  major,  and  had 
spent  a  good  deal  on  postage  stamps,  and  on  rail- 

A 


2      Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

way  fares  to  interview  people  of  influence,  before 
L  found  myself  in  the  hotel  at  Skebawn,  opening 
long  envelopes  addressed  to  "  Major  Yeates,  R.M." 

My  most  immediate  concern,  as  any  one  who  has 
spent  nine  weeks  at  Mrs.  Raverty's  hotel  will  readily 
believe,  was  to  leave  it  at  the  earliest  opportunity  ; 
but  in  those  nine  weeks  I  had  learned,  amongst 
other  painful  things,  a  little,  a  very  little,  of  the 
methods  of  the  artisan  in  the  West  of  Ireland. 
Finding  a  house  had  been  easy  enough.  I  had 
had  my  choice  of  several,  each  with  some  hun- 
dreds of  acres  of  shooting,  thoroughly  poached,  and 
a  considerable  portion  of  the  roof  intact.  I  had 
selected  one  ;  the  one  that  had  the  largest  extent 
of  roof  in  proportion  to  the  shooting,  and  had 
been  assured  by  my  landlord  that  in  a  fortnight 
or  so  it  would  be  fit  for  occupation. 

"There's  a  few  little  odd  things  to  be  done,"  he 
said  easily ;  "  a  lick  of  paint  here  and  there,  and  a 
slap  of  plaster " 

I  am  short-sighted  ;  I  am  also  of  Irish  extraction  ; 
both  facts  that  make  for  toleration  —  but  even  I 
thought  he  was  understating  the  case.  So  did  the 
contractor. 

At  the  end  of  three  weeks  the  latter  reported 
progress,  which  mainly  consisted  of  the  facts  that 
the  plumber  had  accused  the  carpenter  of  stealing 
sixteen  -feet  of  his  inch-pipe  to  run  a  bell  wire 
through,  and  that  the  carpenter  had  replied  that 
he  wished  the  divil  might  run  the  plumber  through 
.a.  wran's  quill.  The  plumber  having  reflected  upon 
the  carpenter's  parentage,  the  work  of  renovation 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  3 

had  merged  in  battle,  and  at  the  next  Petty  Ses- 
sions I  was  reluctantly  compelled  to  allot  to  each 
combatant  seven  days,  without  the  option  of  a  fine. 

These  and  kindred  difficulties  extended  in  an 
unbroken  chain  through  the  summer  months,  until" 
a  certain  wet  and  windy  day  in  October,  when, 
with  my  baggage,  I  drove  over  to  establish  myself 
at  Shreelane.  It  was  a  tall,  ugly  house  of  three 
storeys  high,  its  walls  faced  with  weather-beaten 
slates,  its  windows  staring,  narrow,  and  vacant. 
Round  the  house  ran  an  area,  in  which  grew  some 
laurustinus  and  holly  bushes  among  ash  heaps,  and 
nettles,  and  broken  bottles.  I  stood  on  the  steps, 
waiting  for  the  door  to  be  opened,  while  the  rain 
sluiced  upon  me  from  a  broken  eaveshoot  that  had, 
amongst  many  other  things,  escaped  the  notice  of 
my  landlord.  I  thought  of  Philippa,  and  of  her 
plan,  broached  in  to-day's  letter,  of  having  the  hall 
done  up  as  a  sitting-room. 

The  door  opened,  and  revealed  the  hall.  It 
struck  me  that  I  had  perhaps  overestimated  its 
possibilities.  Among  them  I  had  certainly  not  in- 
cluded a  flagged  floor,  sweating  with  damp,  and 
a  reek  of  cabbage  from  the  adjacent  kitchen  stairs. 
A  large  elderly  woman,  with  a  red  face,  and  a  cap 
worn  helmet-wise  on  her  forehead,  swept  me  a 
magnificent  curtsey  as  I  crossed  the  threshold. 

"Your  honour's  welcome "  she  began,  and 

then  every  door  in  the  house  slammed  in  obedience 
to  the  gust  that  drove  through  it.  With  something 
that  sounded  like  "  Mend  ye  for  a  back  door  ! "  Mrs. 
Cadogan  abandoned  her  opening  speech  and  made 


4      Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

for  the  kitchen  stairs.  (Improbable  as  it  may 
appear,  my  housekeeper  was  called  Cadogan,  a 
name  made  locally  possible  by  being  pronounced 
Caydogawn.) 

Only  those  who    have   been   through   a  similar 


I  STOOD   ON  THE   STEPS,    WAITING   FOR   THE  DOOR 
TO   BE  OPENED 


experience  can  know  what  manner  of  afternoon  I 
spent.  I  am  a  martyr  to  colds  in  the  head,  and  I 
felt  one  coming  on.  I  made  a  laager  in  front  of 
the  dining-room  fire,  with  a  tattered  leather  screen 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  5 

and  the  dinner  table,  and  gradually,  with  cigarettes 
and  strong  tea,  baffled  the  smell  of  must  and  cats, 
and  fervently  trusted  that  the  rain  might  avert  a 
threatened  visit  from  my  landlord.  I  was  then 
but  superficially  acquainted  with  Mr.  Florence 
McCarthy  Knox  and  his  habits. 

At  about  4.30,  when  the  room  had  warmed  up, 
and  my  cold  was  yielding  to  treatment,  Mrs/ 
Cadogan  entered  and  informed  me  that  "  Mr. 
Flurry  "  was  in  the  yard,  and  would  be  thankful  if 
I'd  go  out  to  him,  for  he  couldn't  come  in.  Many 
are  the  privileges  of  the  female  sex  ;  had  I  been  a 
woman  I  should  unhesitatingly  have  said  that  I  had 
a  cold  in  my  head.  Being  a  man,  I  huddled  on  a 
mackintosh,  and  went  out  into  the  yard. 

My  landlord  was  there  on  horseback,  and  with 
him  there  was  a  man  standing  at  the  head  of  a 
stout  grey  animal.  I  recognised  with  despair  that 
I  was  about  to  be  compelled  to  buy  a  horse. 

"Good  afternoon,  Major,"  said  Mr.  Knox  in  his 
slow,  sing-song  brogue  ;  "  it's  rather  soon  to  be 
paying  you  a  visit,  but  I  thought  you  might  be  in 
a  hurry  to  see  the  horse  I  was  telling  you  of." 

I  could  have  laughed.  As  if  I  were  ever  in  a 
hurry  to  see  a  horse  !  I  thanked  him,  and  suggested 
that  it  was  rather  wet  for  horse-dealing. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  when  you're  used  to  it,"  replied 
Mr.  Knox.  His  gloveless  hands  were  red  and  wet, 
the  rain  ran  down  his  nose,  and  .his  covert  coat  was 
soaked  to  a  sodden  brown.  I  thought  that  I  did 
not  want  to  become  used  to  it.  My  relations  with 
horses  have  been  of  a  purely  military  character, 


6      Some   'Experiences  of  an  Irish 

I  have  endured  the  Sandhurst  riding-school,  I 
have  galloped  for  an  impetuous  general,  I  have 
been  steward  at  regimental  races,  but  none  of  these 
feats  have  altered  my  opinion  that  the  horse,  as  a 
means  of  locomotion,  is  obsolete.  Nevertheless,  the 
man  who  accepts  a  resident  magistracy  in  the  south- 
west of  Ireland  voluntarily  retires  into  the  prehis- 
toric age  ;  to  institute  a  stable  became  inevitable. 

"  You  ought  to  throw  a  leg  over  him,"  said 
Mr.  Knox,  "  and  you're  welcome  to  take  him  over 
a  fence  or  two  if  you  like.  He's  a  nice  flippant 
jumper." 

Even  to  my  unexacting  eye  the  grey  horse  did 
not  seem  to  promise  flippancy,  nor  did  I  at  all 
desire  to  find  that  quality  in  him.  I  explained  that 
I  wanted  something  to  drive,  and  not  to  ride. 

"  Well,  that's  a  fine  raking  horse  in  harness,"  said 
Mr.  Knox,  looking  at  me  with  his  serious  grey  eyes, 
"  and  you'd  drive  him  with  a  sop  of  hay  in  his 
mouth.  Bring  him  up  here,  Michael." 

Michael  abandoned  his  efforts  to  kick  the  grey 
horse's  forelegs  into  a  becoming  position,  and  led 
him  up  to  me. 

I  regarded  him  from  under  my '  umbrella  with 
a  quite  unreasonable  disfavour.  He  had  the 
dreadful  beauty  of  a  horse  in  a  toy-shop,  as  chubby, 
as  wooden,  and  as  conscientiously  dappled,  but  it 
was  unreasonable  to  urge  this  as  an  objection,  and  I 
was  incapable  of  finding  any  more  technical  draw- 
back. Yielding  to  circumstance,  I  "threw  my  leg" 
over  the  brute,  and  after  pacing  gravely  round  the 
quadrangle  that  formed  the  yard,  and  jolting  to  my 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  7 

entrance  gate  and  back,  I  decided  that  as  he  had 
neither  fallen  down  nor  kicked  me  off,  it  was  worth 
paying  twenty-five  pounds  for  him,  if  only  to  get 
in  out  of  the  rain. 

Mr.  Knox  accompanied  me  into  the  house  and 
had  a  drink.  He  was  a  fair,  spare  young  man, 
who  looked  like  a  stable  boy  among  gentlemen, 
and  a  gentleman  among  stable  boys.  He  belonged 
to  a  clan  that  cropped  up  in  every  grade  of  society 
in  the  county,  from  Sir  Valentine  Knox  of  Castle 
Knox  down  to  the  auctioneer  Knox,  who  bore  the 
attractive  title  of  Larry  the  Liar.  So  far  as  I  could 
judge,  Florence  McCarthy  of  that  ilk  occupied  a 
shifting  position  about  midway  in  the  tribe.  I  had 
met  him  at  dinner  at  Sir  Valentine's,  I  had  heard 
of  him  at  an  illicit  auction,  held  by  Larry  the  Liar, 
of  brandy  stolen  from  a  wreck.  They  were  "  Black 
Protestants,"  all  of  them,  in  virtue  of  their  descent 
from  a  godly  soldier  of  Cromwell,  and  all  were 
prepared  at  any  moment  of  the  day  or  night  to 
sell  a  horse. 

"  You'll  be  apt  to  find  this  place  a  bit  lonesome 
after  the  hotel,"  remarked  Mr.  Flurry,  sympa- 
thetically, as  he  placed  his  foot  in  its  steaming 
boot  on  the  hob,  "  But  it's  a  fine  sound  house  any- 
way, and  lots  of  rooms  in  it,  though  indeed,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  never  was  through  the  whole 
of  them  since  the  time  my  great-uncle,  Denis 
McCarthy,  died  here.  The  dear  knows  I  had  enough 
of  it  that  time."  He  paused,  and  lit  a  cigarette 
— one  of  my  best,  and  quite  thrown  away  upon 
him.  "  Those  top  floors,  now/'  he  resumed,  "  I 


8      Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

wouldn't  make  too  free  with  them.  There's  some 
of  them  would  jump  under  you  like  a  spring  bed. 
Many's  the  night  I  was  in  and  out  of  those  attics, 
following  my  poor  uncle  when  he  had  a  bad  turn 
on  him — the  horrors,  y'  know — there  were  nights 
he  never  stopped  walking  through  the  house.  Good 
Lord  !  will  I  ever  forget  the  morning  he  said  he 
saw  the  devil  coming  up  the  avenue  !  *  Look  at 
the  two  horns  on  him/  says  he,  and  he  out  with 
his  gun  and  shot  him,  and,  begad,  it  was  his  own 
donkey  ! " 

Mr.  Knox  gave  a  couple  of  short  laughs.  He 
seldom  laughed,  having  in  unusual  perfection  the 
gravity  of  manner  that  is  bred  by  horse-dealing, 
probably  from  the  habitual  repression  of  all  emo- 
tion save  disparagement. 

The  autumn  evening,  grey  with  rain,  was  darken- 
ing in  the  tall  windows,  and  the  wind  was  be- 
ginning to  make  bullying  rushes  among  the  shrubs 
in  the  area  ;  a  shower  of  soot  rattled  down  the 
chimney  and  fell  on  the  hearthrug. 

"  More  rain  coming,"  said  Mr.  Knox,  rising  com- 
posedly ;  "  you'll  have  to  put  a  goose  down  these 
chimneys  some  day  soon,  it's  the  only  way  in  the 
world  to  clean  them.  Well,  I'm  for  the  road. 
You'll  come  out  on  the  grey  next  week,  I  hope ; 
the  hounds'll  be  meeting  here.  Give  a  roar»at  him 
coming  in  at  his  jumps."  He  threw  his  cigarette 
into  the  fire  and  extended  a  hand  to  me.  "  Good- 
bye, Major,  you'll  see  plenty  of  me  and  my  hounds 
before  you're  done.  There's  a  power  of  foxes  in 
the  plantations  here." 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  9 

This  was  scarcely  reassuring  for  a  man  who 
hoped  to  shoot  woodcock,  and  I  hinted  as  much.  " 

"  Oh,  is  it  the  cock  ?  "  said  Mr.  Flurry  ;  "  b'leeve 
me,  there  never  was  a  woodcock  yet  that  minded 
hounds,  now,  no  more  than  they'd  mind  rabbits  ! 
The  best  shoots  ever  I  had  here,  the  hounds  were 
in  it  the  day  before." 

When  Mr.  Knox  had  gone,  I  began  to  picture 
myself  going  across  country  roaring,  like  a  man  on 
a  fire-engine,  while  Philippa  put  the  goose  down  the 
chimney ;  but  when  I  sat  down  to  write  to  her  I  did 
not  feel  equal  to  being  humorous  about  it.  I  dilated 
ponderously  on  my  cold,  my  hard  work,  and  my 
loneliness,  and  eventually  went  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock 
full  of  cold  shivers  and  hot  whisky-and-water. 

After  a  couple  of  hours  of  feverish  dozing,  I 
began  to  understand  what  had  driven  Great-Uncle 
McCarthy  to  perambulate  the  house  by  night.  Mrs. 
Cadogan  had  assured  me  that  the  Pope  of  Rome 
hadn't  a  betther  bed  undher  him  than  myself ; 
wasn't  I  down  on  the  new  flog  mattherass  the  old 
masther  bought  in  Father  Scanlan's  auction  ?  By 
the  smell  I  recognised  that  "flog"  meant  flock, 
otherwise  I  should  have  said  my  couch  was  stuffed 
with  old  boots.  I  have  seldom  spent  a  more 
wretched  night.  The  rain  drummed  with  soft 
fingers  on  my  window  panes  ;  the  house  was  full 
of  noises.  I  seemed  to  see  Great-Uncle  McCarthy 
ranging  the  passages  with  Flurry  at  his  heels  ; 
several  times  I  thought  I  heard  him.  Whisperings 
seemed  borne  on  the  wind  through  my  keyhole, 
boards  creaked  in  the  room  overhead,  and  once 


io     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

I  could  have  sworn  that  a  hand  passed,  groping, 
over  the  panels  of  my  door.  1  am,  I  may  admit, 
a  believer  in  ghosts ;  I  even  take  in  a  paper  that 
deals  with  their  culture,  but  I  cannot  pretend  that 
on  that  night  I  looked  forward  to  a  manifestation 
of  Great-Uncle  McCarthy  with  any  enthusiasm. 

The  morning  broke  storing,  and  I  woke  to  find 
Mrs.  Cadogan's  understudy,  a  grimy  nephew  of 
about  eighteen,  standing  by  my  bedside,  with  a 
black  bottle  in  his  hand. 

"There's  no  bath  in  the  house,  sir,"  was  his  reply 
to  my  command;  "but  me  A'nt  said,  would  ye 
like  a  taggeen  ?  " 

This  alternative  proved  to  be  a  glass  of  raw 
whisky.  I  declined  it. 

I  look  back  to  that  first  week  of  housekeeping 
at  Shreelane  as  to  a  comedy  excessively  badly 
staged,  and  striped  with  lurid  melodrama.  To- 
wards its  close  I  was  positively  home-sick  for  Mrs. 
Raverty's,  and  I  had  not  a  single  clean  pair  of 
boots.  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  hold  the  con- 
vention that  in  Ireland  the  rain  never  ceases,  day 
or  night,  but  I  must  say  that 'my  first  November 
at  Shreelane  was  composed  of  weather  of  which 
my  friend  Flurry  Knox  remarked  that  you  wouldn't 
meet  a  Christian  out  of  doors,  unless  it  was  a  snipe 
or  a  dispensary  doctor.  To  this  lamentable  cate- 
gory might  be  added  a  resident  magistrate.  Daily, 
shrouded  in  mackintosh,  I  set  forth  for  the  Petty 
Sessions  Courts  of  my  wide  district ;  daily,  in  the 
inevitable  atmosphere  of  wet  frieze  and  perjury, 
I  listened  to  indictments  of  old  women  who  plucked 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  n 

geese  alive,  of  publicans  whose  hospitality  to  their 
friends  broke  forth  uncontrollably  on  Sunday  after- 
noons, of  "  parties "  who,  in  the  language  of  the 
police  sergeant,  were  subtly  defined  as  "  not  to  say 
dhrunk,  but  in  good  fighting  thrim." 

I  got  used  to  it  all  in  time- — I  suppose  one  can  get 
used  to  anything — I  even  became  callous  to  the  sur- 
prises of  Mrs.  Cadogan's  cooking.  AS  the  weather 
hardened  and  the  woodcock  came  in,  and  one  by 
one  I  discovered  and  nailed  up  the  rat  holes,  I 
began  to  find  life  endurable,  and  even  to  feel  some 
remote  sensation  of  home-coming  when  the  grey 
horse  turned  in  at  the  gate  of  Shreelane. 

The  one  feature  of  my  establishment  to  which 
I  could  not  become  inured  was  the  pervading  sub- 
presence  of  some  thing  or  things  which,  for  my 
own  convenience,  I  summarised  as  Great-Uncle 
McCarthy.  There  were  nights  on  which  I  was 
certain  that  I  heard  the  inebriate  shuffle  of  his  foot 
overhead,  the  touch  of  his 'fumbling  hand  against 
the  walls.  There  were  dark  times  before  the  dawn 
when  sounds  went  to  and  fro,  the  moving  of  weights, 
the  creaking,  of  doors,  a  far-away  rapping  in  which 
was  a  workmanlike  suggestion  of  the  undertaker,  a 
rumble  of  wheels  on  the  avenue.  Once  I  was 
impelled  to  the  perhaps  imprudent  measure  of 
cross-examining  Mrs.  Cadogan.  Mrs.  Cadogan, 
taking  the  preliminary  precaution  of  crossing  her- 
self, asked  me  fatefully  what  day  of  the  week  it  was. 

"  Friday  !  "  she  repeated  after  me.  "  Friday  ! 
The  Lord  save  us  !  'Twas  a  Friday  the  old  masther 
was  buried  ! " 


12     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

At  this  point  a  saucepan  opportunely  boiled 
over,  and  Mrs.  Cadogan  fled  with  it  to  the  scullery, 
and  was  seen  no  more. 

In  the  process  of  time  I  brought  Great-Uncle 
McCarthy  down  to  a  fine  point.  On  Friday  nights 
he  made  coffins  and  drove  hearses  ;  during  the  rest 
of  the  week  he  rarely  did  more  than  patter  and 
shuffle  in  the  attics  over  my  head. 

One  night,  about  the  middle  of  December,  I 
awoke,  suddenly  aware  that  some  noise  had  fallen 
like  a  heavy  stone  into  my  dreams.  As  I  felt  for 
the  matches  it  came  again,  the  long,  grudging  groan 
and  the  uncompromising  bang  of  the  cross  door  at 
the  head  of  the  kitchen  stairs.  I  told  myself  that 
it  was  a  draught  that  had  done  it,  but  it  was  a 
'perfectly  still  night.  Even  as  I  listened,  a  sound 
of  wheels  on  the  avenue  shook  the  stillness.  The 
thing  was  getting  past  a  joke.  In  a  few  minutes  I 
was  stealthily  groping  my  way  down  my  own  stair- 
case, with  a  box  of  matches  in  my  hand,  enforced 
by  scientific  curiosity,  but  none  the  less  armed  with 
a  stick.  I  stood  in  the  dark  at  the  top  of  the  back 
stairs  and  listened  ;  the  snores  of  Mrs.  Cadogan 
and  her  nephew  Peter  rose  tranquilly  from  their 
respective  lairs.  I  descended  to  the  kitchen  and 
lit  a  candle  ;  there  was  nothing  unusual  there, 
except  a  great  portion  of  the  Cadogan  wearing 
apparel,  which  was  arranged  at  the  fire,  and  was 
being  serenaded  by  two  crickets.  Whatever  had 
opened  the  door,  my  household  was  blameless. 

The  kitchen  was  not  attractive,  yet  I  felt  indis- 
posed to  leave  it.  None  the  less,  it  appeared  to  be 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  13 

my  duty  to  inspect  the  yard.  I  put  the  candle  on 
the  table  and  went  forth  into  the  outer  darkness. 
Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard.  The  night  was  very 
cold,  and  so  dark,  that  I  could  scarcely  distinguish 
the  roofs  of  the  stables  against  the  sky  ;  the  house ' 
loomed  tall  and  oppressive  above  me ;  I  was 
conscious  of  how  lonely  it  stood  in  the  dumb 
and  barren  country.  Spirits  were  certainly  futile 
creatures,  childish  in  their  manifestations,  stupidly 
content  with  the  old  machinery  of  raps  and  rumbles. 
I  thought  how  fine  a  scene  might  be  played  on 
a  stage  like  this  ;  if  I  were  a  ghost,  how  bluely  I 
would  glimmer  at  the  windows,  how  whimperingly 
chatter  in  the  wind.  Something  whirled  out  of  the 
darkness  above  me,  and  fell  with  a  flop  on  the 
ground,  just  at  my  feet.  I  jumped  backwards,  in 
point  of  fact  I  made  for  the  kitchen  door,  and, 
with  my  hand  on  the  latch,  stood  still  and  waited. 
Nothing  further  happened  ;  the  thing  that  lay  there 
did  not  stir.  I  struck  a  match.  The  moment  of 
tension  turned  to  bathos  as  the  light  flickered  on 
nothing  more  fateful  than  a  dead  crow. 

Dead  it  certainly  was.  I  could  have  told  that 
without  looking  at  it ;  but  why  should  it,  at  some 
considerable  period  after  its  death,  fall  from  the 
clouds  at  my  feet.  But  did  it  fall  from  the  clouds  ? 
I  struck  another  match,  and  stared  up  at  the  im- 
penetrable face  of  the  house.  There  was  no  hint 
of  solution  in  the  dark  windows,  but  I  determined 
to  go  up  and  search  the  rooms  that  gave  upon  the 
yard. 

How  cold  it  was !     I  can  feel  now  the  frozen 


14     Some   "Experiences  of  an  Irish 

musty  air  of  those  attics,  with  their  rat-eaten  floors 
and  wall-papers  furred  with  damp.  I  went  softly 
from  one  to  another,  feeling  like  a  burglar  in  my 
own  house,  and  found  nothing  in  elucidation  of 
the  mystery.  The  windows  were  hermetically 
shut,  and  sealed  with  cobwebs.  There  was  no 
furniture,  except  in  the  end  room,  where  a  ward- 
robe without  doors  stood  in  a  corner,  empty  save 
for  the  solemn-  presence  of  a  monstrous  tall  hat. 
I  went  back  to  bed,  cursing  those  powers  of 
darkness  that  had  got  me  out  of  it,  and  heard  no 
more. 

My  landlord  had  not  failed  of  his  promise  to  visit 
my  coverts  with  his  hounds ;  in  fact,  he  fulfilled  it 
rather  more  conscientiously  than  seemed  to  me 
quite  Wholesome  for  the  cock-shooting.  I  main- 
tained a  silence  which  I  felt  to  be  magnanimous 
on  the  part  of  a  man  who  cared  nothing  for  hunt- 
ing and  a  great  deal  for  shooting,  and  wished  the 
hounds  more  success  in  the  slaughter  of  my  foxes 
than  seemed  to  be  granted  to  them.  I  met  them 
all,  one  red  frosty  evening,  as  I  drove  down  the 
long  hill  to  my  demesne  gates,  Flurry  at  their  head, 
in  his  shabby  pink  coat  and  dingy  breeches,  the- 
hounds  trailing  dejectedly  behind  him  and  his  half- 
dozen  companions. 

"  What  luck  ? "  I  called  out,  drawing  rein  as  I 
met  them. 

"  None,"  said  Mr.  Flurry  briefly.  He  did  not 
stop,  neither  did  he  remove  his  pipe  from  the 
down-twisted  corner  of  his  mouth  ;  his  eye  at  me 
was  cold  and  sour.  The  other  members  of  the 


I 


15 

thought 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy 

hunt  passed  me  with   equal   hauteurs; 
they  took  their  ill  luck  very  badly. 

On  foot,  among  the  last  of  the  straggling  hounds, 
cracking  a  carman's  whip,  and  swearing  compre- 
hensively at  them  all,  slouched  my  friend  $lipper. 
Our  friendship  had  begun  in  Court,  the  relative 
positions  of  the  dock  and  the  judgment-seat  forming 
no  obstacle  to  its  progress,  and  had  been  cemented 
during  several  days'  tramping  after  snipe.  He  was, 
as  usual,  a  little  drunk,  and  he 
hailed  me  as  though  I  were  a 
ship. 

"  Ahoy,  Major  Yeates  ! "  he 
shouted,  bringing  himself  up 
with  a  lurch  against  my  cart ; 
"it's  hunting  you  should  be, 
in  place  of  sending  poor  divils 
to  gaol  ! " 

"  But  I  hear  you  had  no 
hunting,"  I  said. 

"Ye  heard  that,  did  ye?" 
Slipper  rolled  upon  me  an  eye 
like  that  of  a  profligate  pug. 
heard  no  more  than  the  thruth." 

"  But  where  are  all  the  foxes  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Begor,  I  don't  know  no  more  than  your  honour. 
And  Shreelane — that  there  used  to  be  as  many 
foxes  in  it  as  there's  crosses  in  a  yard  of  check  ! 
Well,  well,  I'll  say  nothin'  for  it,  -only  that  it's 
quare  !  Here,  Vaynus  !  Naygress  !  "  Slipper  uttered 
a  yell,  hoarse  with  whisk}',  in  adjuration  of  two 
elderly  ladies  of  the  pack  who  had  profited  by  our 


MY  FRIENT5   SLIPPER 


"Well,  begor,  ye 


1 6     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

conversation  to  stray  away  into  an  adjacent  cottage. 
"  Well,  good-night,  Major.  Mr.  Flurry's  as  cross 
as  briars,  and  he'll  have  me  ate  ! " 

He  set  off  at  a  surprisingly  steady  run,  cracking 
his  whip,  and  whooping  like  a  madman.  I  hope 
that  when  I  also  am  fifty  I  shall  be  able  to  run 
like  Slipper. 

That  frosty  evening  was  followed  by  three  others 
like  unto  it,  and  a  flight  of  woodcock  came  in. 
I  calculated  that  I  could  do  with  five  guns,  and  I 
despatched  invitations  to  shoot  and  dine  on  the 
following  day  to  four  of  the  local  sportsmen,  among 
whom  was,  of  course,  my  landlord.  I  remember 
that  in  my  letter  to  the  latter  I  expressed  a  facetious 
hope  that  my  bag  of  cock  would  be  more  successful 
than  his  of  foxes  had  been. 

The  answers  to  my  invitations  were  not  what  I 
expected.  All,  without  so  much  as  a  conventional 
regret,  declined  my  invitation  ;  Mr.  Knox  added 
that  he  hoped  the  bag  of  cock  would  be  to  my 
liking,  and  that  I  need  not  be  "affraid"  that  the 
hounds  would  trouble  my  coverts  any  more.  Here 
was  war  !  I  gazed  in  stupefaction  at  the  crooked 
scrawl  in  which  my  landlord  had  declared  it.  It 
was  wholly  and  entirely  inexplicable,  and  instead, 
of  going  to  sleep  comfortably  over  the  fire  and 
my  newspaper  as  a  gentleman  should,  I  spent  the 
evening  in  irritated  ponderings  over  this  bewilder- 
ing and  exasperating  change  of  front  on  the  part 
of  my  friendly  squireens. 

My  shoot  the  next  day  was  scarcely  a  success. 
I  shot  the  woods  in  company  with  my  game- 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  17 

keeper,  Tim  Connor,  a  gentleman  whose  duties 
mainly  consisted  in  limiting  the  poaching  privileges 
to  his  personal  friends,  and  whatever  my  offence 
might  have  been,  Mr.  Knox  could  have  wished  me 
no  bitterer  punishment  than  hearing  the  unavailing 
shouts  of  "  Mark  cock  ! "  and  seeing  my  birds 
winging  their  way  from  the  coverts,  far  out  of 
shot.  Tim  Connor  and  I  got  ten  couple  between 
us  ;  it  might  have  been  thirty  if  my  neighbours 
had  not  boycotted  me,  for  what  I  could  only 
suppose  was  the  slackness  of  their  hounds. 

I  was  dog-tired  that  night,  having  walked  enough 
for  three  men,  and  I  slept  the  deep,  insatiable 
sleep  that  I  had  earned.  It  was  somewhere  about 
3  A.M.  that  I  was  gradually  awakened  by  a  con- 
tinuous knocking,  interspersed  with  muffled  calls. 
Great  -  Uncle  McCarthy  had  never  before  given 
tongue,  and  I  freed  one  ear  from  blankets  to 
listen.  Then  I  remembered  that  Peter  had  told 
me  the  sweep  had  promised  to  arrive  that  morning, 
and  to  arrive  early.  Blind  with  sleep  and  fury  I 
went  to  the  passage  window,  and  thence  desired 
the  sweep  to  go  to  the  devil.  It  availed  me  little. 
For  the  remainder  of  the  night  I  could  hear  him 
pacing  round  the  house,  trying  the  windows,  bang- 
ing at  the  doors,  and  calling  upon  Peter  Cadogan 
as  the  priests  of  Baal  called  upon  their  god.  At 
six  o'clock  I  had  fallen  into  a  troubled  doze,  when 
Mrs.  Cadogan  knocked  at  my  door  and  imparted 
the  information  that  the  sweep  had  arrived.  My 
answer  need  not  be  recorded,  but  in  spite  of  it 
the  door  opened,  and  my  housekeeper,  in  a  weird 


1 8     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

deshabille,  effectively  lighted  by  the  orange  beams 
of  her  candle,  entered  my  room. 

"God  forgive  .me,  I  never  seen  one  I'd  hate  as 
much  as  that  sweep ! "  she  began  ;  "  he's  these 
three  hours — arrah,  what,  three  hours  ! — no,  but 
all  night,  raising  tallywack  and  tandem  round  the 
house  to  get  at  the  chimbleys." 

"Well,  for  Heaven's  sake  let  him  get  at  the 
chimneys  and  let  me  go  to  sleep,"  I  answered, 
goaded  to  desperation,  "  and  you  may  tell  him 
from  me  that  if  I  hear  his  voice  again  I'll  shoot 
him  !" 

Mrs.  Cadogan  silently  left  my  bedside,  and  as 
she  closed  the  door  she  said  to  herself,  "  The  Lord 
save  us ! " 

Subsequent  events  may  be  briefly  summarised. 
At  7.30  I  was  awakened  anew  by  a  thunderous 
sound  in  the  chimney,  and  a  brick  crashed  into 
the  fireplace,  followed  at  a  short  interval  by  two 
dead  jackdaws  and  their  nests.  At  eight,  I  was  in- 
formed by  Peter  that  there  was  no  hot  water, 
and  that  he  wished  the  divil  would  roast  the  same 
sweep.  At  9.30,  when  I  came  down  to  breakfast, 
there  was  no  fire  anywhere,  and  my  coffee,  made 
in  the  coach-house,  tasted  of  soot.  I  put  on  an 
overcoat  and  opened  my  letters.  About  fourth  or 
fifth  in  the  uninteresting  heap  came  one  in  an 
egregiously  disguised  hand. 

"Sir,"  it  began,  "this  is  to  inform  you  your  un- 
sportsmanlike conduct  has  been  discovered.  You 
have  been  suspected  this  good  while  of  shooting 
the  Shreelane  foxes,  it  is  known  now  you  do  worse, 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  19 

Parties  have  seen  your  gamekeeper  going  regular  ^ 
to  meet  the  Saturday  early  train  at  Salters  Hill 
Station,  with  your  grey  horse  under  a  cart,  and 
your  labels  on  the  boxes,  and  we  know  as  well  as 
your  agent  in  Cork  what  it  is  you  have  in  those 
boxes.  Be  warned  in  time. — Your  Well  wisher." 

I  read  this  through  twice  before  its  drift  became 
apparent,  and  I  realised  that  I  was  accused  of 
improving  my  shooting  and  my  finances  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  selling  my  foxes.  That  is  to 
say,  I  was  in  a  worse  position  than  if  I  had  stolen 
a  horse,  or  murdered  Mrs.  Cadogan,  or  got  drunk 
three  times  a  week  in  Skebawn. 

For  a  few7  moments  I  fell  into  wild  laughter,  and 
then,  aware  that  it  was  rather  a  bad  business  to 
let  a  lie  of  this  kind  get  a  start,  I  sat  down  to 
demolish  the  preposterous  charge  in  a  letter  to 
Flurry  Knox.  Somehow,  as  I  selected  my  sen- 
tences, it  was  borne  in  upon  me  that,  if -the  letter 
spoke  the  truth,  circumstantial  evidence  was  rather 
against  me.  Mere  lofty  repudiation  would  be  un- 
availing, and  by  my  infernal  facetiousness  about  the 
woodcock  I  had  effectively  filled  in  the  case  against 
myself.  At  all  events,  the  first  thing  to  do  was 
to  establish  a  basis,  and  have  it  out  with  Tim 
Connor.  I  rang  the  bell. 

"  Peter,  is  Tim  Connor  about  the  place  ?  " 

"  He  is  not,  sir.  I  heard  him  say  he  was  going 
west  the  hill  to  mend  the  bounds  fence."  Peter's 
face  was  covered  with  soot,  his  eyes  were  red, 
and  he  coughed  ostentatiously.  "  The  sweep's 
after  breaking  one  of  his  brushes  within  in  yer 


20     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

bedroom  chimney,  sir,"  he  went  on,  with  all  the 
satisfaction  of  his  class  in  announcing  domestic 
calamity  ;  "  he's  above  on  the  roof  now,  and  he'd 
be  thankful  to  you  to  go  up  to  him." 

I  followed  him  upstairs  in  that  state  of  simmering 
patience  that  any  employer  of  Irish  labour  must 
know  and  sympathise  with.  I  climbed  -the  rickety 
ladder  and  squeezed  through  the  dirty  trapdoor 
involved  in  the  ascent  to  the  roof,  and  was  con- 
fronted by  the  hideous  face  of  the  sweep,  black 
against  the  frosty  blue  sky.  He  had  encamped 
with  all  his  paraphernalia  on  the  flat  top  of  the 
roof,  and  was  good  enough  to  rise  and  put  his 
pipe  in  his  pocket  on  my  arrival. 

"  Good  morning,  Major.  That's  a  grand  view 
you  have  up  here,"  said  the  sweep.  He  was  evi- 
dently far  too  well  bred  to  talk  shop.  "  I  thravelled 
every  roof  in  this  counthry,  and  there  isn't  one 
where  you'd  get  as  handsome  a  prospect  !" 

Theoretically  he  was  right,  but  I  had  not  come 
up  to  the  roof  to  discuss  scenery,  and  demanded 
brutally  why  he  had  sent  for  me.  The  explanation 
involved  a  recital  of  the  special  genius  required 
to  sweep  the  Shreelane  chimneys  ;  of  the  fact  that 
the  sweep  had  in  infancy  been  sent  up  and  down 
every  one  of  them  by  Great-Uncle  McCarthy  ;  of 
the  three  ass-loads  of  soot  that  by  his  peculiar 
skill  he  had  this  morning  taken  from  the  kitchen 
chimney  ;  of  its  present  purity,  the  draught  being 
such  that  it  would  "  dhraw  up  a  young  cat  with 
it."  Finally  —  realising  that  I  could  endure  no 
more — he  explained  that  my  bedroom  chimney  had 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  2! 

got  what  he  called  "  a  wynd  "  in  it,  and  he  pro- 
posed to  climb  down  a  little  way  in  the  stack  to 
try  "would  he  get  to  come  at  the  brush."  The 
sweep  was  very  small,  the  chimney  very  large.  I 
stipulated  that  he  should  have  a  rope  round  his 
waist,  and  despite  the  illegality,  I  let  him  go.  He 
went  down  like  a  monkey,  digging  his  toes  and 
fingers  into  the  niches  made  for  the  purpose  in 
the  old  chimney ;  Peter  held  the  rope.  I  lit  a 
cigarette  and  waited. 

Certainly  the  view  from  the  roof  was  worth 
coming  up  to  look  at.  It  was  rough,  heathery 
country  on  one  side,  with  a  string  of  little  blue 
lakes  running  like  a  turquoise  necklet  round  the 
base  of  a  firry  hill,  and  patches  of  pale  green 
pasture  were  set  amidst  the  rocks  and  heather.  A 
silvery  flash  behind  the  undulations  of  the  hills 
told  where  the  Atlantic  lay  in  immense  plains  of 
sunlight.  I  turned  to  survey  with  an  owner's  eye 
my  own  grey  woods  and  straggling  plantations  of 
larch,  and  espied  a  man  coming  out  of  the  western 
wood.  He  had  something  on  his  back,  and  he 
was  walking  very  fast ;  a  rabbit  poacher  no  doubt. 
As  he  passed  out  of  sight  into  the  back  avenue 
he  was  beginning  to  run.  At  the  same  instant  I 
saw  on  the  hill  beyond  my  western  boundaries 
half-a-dozen  horsemen  scrambling  by  zigzag  ways 
down  towards  the  wood.  There  was  one  red  coat 
among  them  ;  it  came  first  at  the  gap  in  the  fence 
that  Tim  Connor  had  gone  out  to  mend,  and 
with  the  others  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  covert,  from 
which,  in  another  instant,  came  clearly  through  the 


22     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

frosty  air  a  shout  of  "  Gone  to  ground  ! "  Tre- 
mendous horn  blowings  followed,  then,  all  in  the 
same  moment,  I  saw  the  hounds  break  in  full  cry 
from  the  wood,  and  come  stringing  over  the  grass 
and  up  the  back  avenue  towards  the  yard  gate. 
Were  they  running  a  fresh  fox  into  the  stables  ? 
.  I  do  not  profess  to  be  a  hunting-man,  but  I 
am  an  Irishman,  and  so,  it  is  perhaps  superfluous 
to  state,  is  Peter.  We  forgot  the  sweep  as  if  he 
had  never  existed,  and  precipitated  ourselves  down 
the  ladder,  down  the  stairs,  and  out  int©  the  yard. 
One  side  of  the  yard  is  formed  by  the  coach-house 
and  a  long  stable,  with  a  range  of  lofts  above  them, 
planned  on  the  heroic  scale  in  such  matters  that 
obtained  in  Ireland  formerly.  These  join  the 
house  at  the  corner  by  the  back  door.  A  long 
flight  of  stone  steps  leads  to  the  lofts,  and  up  these, 
as  Peter  and  I  emerged  from  the  back  door,  the 
hounds  were  struggling  helter  -  skelter.  Almost 
simultaneously  there  was  a  confused  clatter  of 
hoofs  in  the  back  avenue,  and  Flurry  Knox  came 
stooping  at  a  gallop  under  the  archway  followed 
by  three  or  four  other  riders.  They  flung  them- 
selves from  their  horses  and  made  for  the  steps 
of  the  loft ;  more  hounds  pressed,  yelling,  on  their 
heels,  the  din  was  indescribable,  and  justified 
Mrs.  Cadogan's  subsequent  remark  that  "  when  she 
heard  the  noise  she  thought  'twas  the  end  of  the 
world  and  the  divil  collecting  his  own  !  " 

I  jostled  in  the  wake  of  the  party,  and  found 
myself  in  the  loft,  wading  in  hay,  and  nearly 
deafened  by  the  clamour  that  was  bandied  about 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  23 

the  high  roof  and  walls.  At  the  farther  end  of 
the  loft  the  hounds  were  raging  in  the  hay,  en- 
couraged thereto  by  the  whoops  and  screeches  of 
Flurry  and  his  friends.  High  up  in  the  gable  of 
the  loft,  where  it  joined  the  main  wail  of  the  house, 
there  was  a  small  door,  and  I  noted  with  a  tran- 
sient surprise  that  there  was  a  long  ladder  leading 
up  to  it.  Even  as  it  caught  my  eye  a  hound  fought 
his  way  out  of  a  drift  of  hay  and  began  to  jump 
at  the  ladder,  throwing  his  tongue  vociferously,  and 
even  clambering  up  a  few  rungs  in  his  excitement. 

"  There's  the  way  he's  gone  ! "  roared  Flurry, 
striving  through  hounds  and  hay  towards  the 
ladder,  "  Trumpeter  has  him  !  What's  up  there, 
back  of  the  door,  Major  ?  I  don't  remember  it 
at  all." 

My  crimes  had  evidently  been  forgotten  in  the 
supremacy  of  the  moment.  While  I  was  futilely 
asserting  that  had  the  fox  gone  up  the  ladder  he 
could  not  possibly  have  opened  the  door  and  shut 
it  after  him,  even  if  the  door  led  anywhere,  which, 
to  the  best  of  my  belief,  it  did  not,  the  door  in 
question  opened,  and  to  my  amazement  the  sweqi 
appeared  at  it.  He  gesticulated  violently,  and  over 
the  tumult  was  heard  to  asseverate  that  there  was 
nothing  above  there,  only  a  way  into  the  flue,  and 
any  one  would  be  destroyed  with  the  soot — 

"  Ah,  go  to  blazes  with  your  soot  !  "  interrupted 
Flurry,  already  half-way  up  the  ladder. 

I  followed  him,  the  other  men  pressing' up  be- 
hind me.  That  Trumpeter  had  made  no  mistake 
was  instantly  brought  home  to  our  noses  by  the 


24     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

reek  of  fox  that  met  us  at  the  door.  Instead  of  a 
chimney,  \ve  found  ourselves  in  a  dilapidated  bed- 
room, full  of,  people.  Tim  Connor  was  there,  the 
sweep  was  there,  and  a  squalid  elderly  man  and 
woman  on  whom  I  had  never  set  eyes  before. 
There  was  a  large  open  fireplace,  black  with  the 
soot  the  sweep  had  brought  down  with  him,  and 
on  the  table  stood  a  bottle  of  my  own  special 
Scotch  whisky.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  was 
a  pile  of  broken  packing-cases,  and  beside  these 
on  the  floor  lay  a  bag  in  which  something  kicked. 

Flurry,  looking  more  uncomfortable  and  non- 
plussed than  I  could  have  believed  possible,  listened 
in  silence  to  the  ceaseless  harangue  of  the  elderly 
woman.  The  hounds  were  yelling  like  lost  spirits 
in  the  loft  below,  but  her  voice  pierced  the  uproar 
like  a  bagpipe.  It  was  an  unspeakably  vulgar 
voice,  yet  it  was  not  the  voice  of  a  countrywoman, 
and  there  were  frowzy  remnants  of  respectability 
about  her  general  aspect. 

"And  is  it  you,  Flurry  Knox,  that's  calling  me 
a  disgrace  !  Disgrace,  indeed,  am  I  ?  Me  that  was 
your  poor  mother's  own  uncle's  daughter,  and  as 
good  a  McCarthy  as  ever  stood  in  Shreelane  !  " 

What  followed  I  could  not  comprehend,  owing  to 
the  fact  that  the  sweep  kept  up  a  perpetual  under- 
current of  explanation  to  me  as  to  how  he  had  got 
down  the  wrong  chimney.  I  noticed  that  his  breath 
stank  of  whisky — Scotch,  not  the  native  variety. 

Never,  as  long  as  Flurry  Knox  lives  to  blow  a 
horn,  will  he  hear  the  last  of  the"  day  that  he  ran 


Great-Uncle  McCarthy  25 

his  mother's  first  cousin  to  ground  in  the  attic. 
Never,  while  Mrs.  Cadogan  can  hold  a  basting 
spoon,  will  she  cease  to  recount  how,  on  the  same 
occasion,  she  plucked  and  roasted  ten  couple  of 
woodcock  in  one  torrid  hour  to  provide  luncheon 
for  the  hunt.  In  the  glory  of  this  achievement 
her  confederacy  with  the  stowaways  in  the  attic  is 
wholly  slurred  over,  in  much  the  same  manner  as 
the  startling  outburst  of  summons  for  trespass, 
brought  by  Tim  Connor  during  the  remainder  of 
the  shooting  season,  obscured  the  unfortunate 
episode  of  the  bagged  fox.  It  was,  of  course,  zeal 
for  my  -shooting  that  induced  him  to  assist  Mr. 
Knox's  disreputable  relations  in  the  deportation  of 
my  foxes  ;  and  I  have  allowed  it  to  remain  at  that. 

In  fact,  the  only  things  not  allowed  to  remain 
were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McCarthy  Gannon.  They,  as 
my  landlord  informed  me,  in  the  midst  of  vast 
apologies,  had  been  permitted  to  squat  at  Shreelane 
until  my  tenancy  began,  and  having  then  ostenta- 
tiously and  abusively  left  the  house,  they  had,  with 
the  connivance  of  the  Cadogan  s,  secretly  returned 
to  roost  in  the  corner  attic,  to  sell  foxes  under 
the  aegis  of  my  name,  and  to  make  inroads  on  my 
belongings.  They  retained  connection  with  the 
outer  world  by  means  of  the  ladder  and  the  Iqft, 
and  with  the  house  in  general,  and  my  whisky  in 
particular,  by  a  door  into  the  other  attics — a  door 
concealed  by  the  wardrobe  in  which  reposed  Great- 
Uncle  McCarthy's  tall  hat. 

It  is  with  the  greatest  regret  that  I  relinquish  the 
prospect  of  writing  a  monograph  on  Great-Uncle 


26     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

McCarthy  for  a  Spiritualistic  Journal,  but  with  the 
departure  of  his  relations  he  ceased  to  manifest 
himself,  and  neither  the  nailing  up  of  packing-cases, 
nor  the  rumble  of  the  cart  that  took  them  to  the 
station,  disturbed  my  sleep  for  the  future. 

I  understand  that  the  task  of  clearing  out  the 
McCarthy  Gannon's  effects  was  of  a  nature  that 
necessitated  two  glasses  of  whisky  per  man  ;  and 
if  the  remnants  of  rabbit  and  jackdaw  disinterred 
in  the  process  were  anything  like  the  crow  that  was 
thrown  out  of  the  window  at  my  feet,  I  do  not 
grudge  the  restorative. 

As  Mrs.  Cadogan  remarked  to  the  sweep,  "A 
Turk  couldn't  stand  it." 


II 

IN  THE  CURRANHILTY  COUNTRY 

IT  is  hardly  credible  that  I  should  have  been  in- 
duced to  depart  from  my  usual  walk  of  life  by 
a  creature  so  uninspiring  as  the  grey  horse  that  I 
bought  from  Flurry  Knox  for  ^25. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  monotony  of  being  ques- 
tioned by  every  other  person  with  whom  I  had  five 
minutes'  conversation,  as  to  when  I  was  coming 
out  with  the  ho.unds,  and  being  further  informed 
that  in  the  days  when  Captain  Browne,  the  late 
Coastguard  officer,  had  owned  the  grey,  there  was 
not  a  fence  between  this  and  Mallow  big  enough 
to  please  them.  At  all  events,  there  came  an 
epoch-making  day  when  I  mounted  the  Quaker  and 
presented  myself  at  a  meet  of  Mr.  Knox's  hounds. 
It  is  my  belief  that  six  out  of  every  dozen  people 
who  go  out  hunting  are  disagreeably  conscious  of 
a  nervous  system,  and  two  out  of  the  six  are  in 
what  is  brutally  called  "  a  blue  funk."  I  was  not 
in  a  blue  funk,  but  I  was  conscious  not  only  of  a 
nervous  system,  but  of  the  anatomical  fact  that  I 
possessed  large,  round  legs,  handsome  in  their  way, 
even  admirable  in  their  proper  sphere,  but  singularly 
ill  adapted  for  adhering  to  the  slippery  surfaces  of 


28     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^  M. 

a  saddle.  By  a  fatal  intervention  of  Providence, 
the  sport,  on  this  my  first  day  in  the  hunting-field, 
Was  such  as  I  could  have  enjoyed  from  a  bath- 
chair.  The  hunting-field  was,  on  this  occasion,  a 
relative  term,  implying  long  stretches  of  unfenced 
moorland  and  bog,  anything,  in  fact,  save  a  field  ; 
the  hunt  itself  might  also  have  been  termed  a  rela- 
tive one,  being  mainly  composed  of  Mr.  Knox's  rela- 
tions in  all  degrees  of  cousinhood.  It  was  a  day 
when  frost  and  sunshine  combined  went  to  one's 
head  like  iced  champagne  ;  the  distant  sea  looked 
like  the  Mediterranean,  and  for  four  sunny  hours 
the  Knox  relatives  and  I  followed  nine  couple  of 
hounds  at  a  tranquil  footpace  along  the  hills,  our 
progress  mildly  enlivened  by  one  or  two  scrambles 
in  the  shape  of  jumps.  At  three  o'clock  I  jogged 
home,  and  felt  within  me  the  newborn  desire  to 
brag  to  Peter  Cadogan  of  the  Quaker's  doings,  as 
I  dismounted  rather  stiffly  in  my  own  yard. 

I  little  thought  that  the  result  would  be  that  three 
weeks  later  I  should  find  myself  in  a  railway  carriage 
at  an  early  hour  of  a  December  morning,  in  com- 
pany with  Flurry  Knox  and  four  or  five  of  his 
clan,  journeying  towards  an  unknown  town,  named 
Drumcurran,  with  an  appropriate  number  of  horses 
in  boxes  behind  us  and  a  van  full  of  hounds  in 
front.  Mr.  Knox's  hounds  were  on  their  way,  by 
invitation,  to  have  a  day  in  the  country  of  their 
neighbours,  the  Curranhilty  Harriers,  and  with 
amazing  fatuity  I  had  allowed  myself  to  be  cajoled 
into  joining  the  party.  A  northerly  shower  was  strik- 
ing in  long  spikes  on  the  glass  of 'the  window,  the 


///  the  Curranhilty  Country  29 

atmosphere  of  the  carriage  was  blue  with  tobacco 
smoke,  and  my  feet,  in  a  pair  of  new  blucher 
boots,  had  sunk  into  a  species  of  Arctic  sleep. 

"  Well,  you  got  my  letter  about  the  dance  at  the 
hotel  to-night  ?  "  said  Flurry  Knox,  breaking  off  a 
whispered  conversation  with  his  amateur  whip,  Dr. 
Jerome  Hickey,  and  sitting  down  beside  me.  "And 
we're  to  go  out  with  the  Harriers  to-day,  and 
they've  a  sure  fox  for  our  hounds  to-morrow.  I 
tell  you  you'll  have  the  best  fun  ever  you  had.  -  It's 
a  great  country  to  ride.  Fine  honest -banks,  that 
you  can  come  racing  at  anywhere  you  like." 

Dr.  Hickey,  a  saturnine  young  man,  with  a  long 
nose  and  a  black  torpedo  beard,  returned  to  his 
pocket  the  lancet  with  which  he  had  been  trimming 
his  nails. 

"They're  like  the  Tipperary  banks,"  he  said; 
"  you  climb  down  nine  feet  and  you  fall  the 
rest." 

It  occurred  to  me  that  the  Quaker  and  I  would 
most  probably  fall  all  the  way,  but  I  said  nothing. 

41 1  hear  Tomsy  Flood  has  a  good  horse  this 
season,"  resumed  Flurry. 

"Then  it's  not  the  one  you  sold  him,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

"  I'll  take  my  oath  it's  not,"  said  Flurry  with  a 
grin.  "  I  believe  he  has  it  in  for  me  still  over  that 
one." ' 

Dr.  Jerome's  moustache  went  up  under  his  nose 
and  showed  his  white  teeth. 

"  Small  blame  to  him  !  when  you  sold  him  a 
mare  that  was  wrong  of  both  her  hind-legs.  Do 


30     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

you  know  what  he  did,  Major  Yeates  ?  The  mare 
was  lame  going  into  the  fair,  and  he  took  the 
two  hind-shoes  off  her  and  told  poor  Flood  she 
kicked  them  off  in  the  box,  and  that  was  why 
she  was  going  tender,  and  he  was  so  drunk  he 
believed  him." 

The  conversation  here  deepened  into  trackless 
obscurities  of  horse-dealing.  I  took  out  my  stylo- 
graph pen,  and  finished  a  letter  to  Philippa,  with 
a  feeling  that  it  would  probably  be  my  last. 

The  next  step  in  the  day's  enjoyment  consisted 
in  trotting  in  cavalcade  through  the  streets  of 
Drumcurran,  with  another  northerly  shower  de- 
scending upon  us,  the  mud  splashing  in  my  face, 
and  my  feet  coming  torturingly  to  life.  Every 
man  and  boy  in  the  town  ran  with  us ;  the 
Harriers  were  somewhere  in  the  tumult  ahead, 
and  the  Quaker  began  to  pull  and  hump  his  back 
ominously.  I  arrived  at  the  meet  considerably 
heated,  and  found  myself  one  of  some  thirty  or 
forty  riders,  who,  with  traps  and  bicycles  and 
footpeople,  were  jammed  in  a  narrow,  muddy 
road.  We  were  late,  and  a  move  was  imme- 
diately made  across  a  series  of  grass  fields,  all 
considerately  furnished  with  gates.  There  was  a 
glacial  gleam  of  sunshine,  and  people  began  to 
turn  down  the  collars  of  their  coats.  As  they 
spread  over  the  field  I  observed  that  Mr.  Knox 
was  no  longer  riding  with  old  Captain  Handcock, 
the  Master  of  the  Harriers,  but  had  attached  him- 
self to  a  square-shouldered  young  lady  with  effective 
coils  of  dark  hair  and  a  grey  habit.  She  was  riding 


/;;  the  Curranhilty  Country  31 

a  fidgety  black  mare  with  great  decision  and  a 
not  disagreeable  swagger. 

It  was  at  about  this  moment  that  the  hounds 
began  to  run,  fast  and  silently,  and  every  one 
began  to  canter. 

"  This  is  nothing  at  all,"  said  Dr.  Hickey,  thunder- 
ing alongside  of  me  on  a  huge  young  chestnut ; 
"there  might  have  been  a  hare  here  last  week,  or 
a  red  herring  this  morning.  I  wouldn't  care  if  we 
only  got  what'd  warm  us.  For  the  matter  of  that, 
I'd  as  soon  hunt  a  cat  as  a  hare." 

I  was  already  getting  quite  enough  to  warm  me. 
The  Quaker's  respectable  grey  head  had  twice 
disappeared  between  his  forelegs  in  a  brace  of 
most  unsettling  bucks,  and  all  my  experiences  at 
the  riding-school  at  Sandhurst  did  not  prepare  me 
for  the  sensation  of  jumping  a  briary  wall  with  a 
heavy  drop  into  a  lane  so  narrow  that  each  horse 
had  to  turn  at  right  angles  as  he  landed.  I  did 
not  so  turn,  but  saved  myself  from  entire  disgrace 
by  a  timely  clutch  at  the  mane.  We  scrambled 
out  of  the  lane  over  a  pile  of  stones  and  furze 
bushes,  and  at  the  end  of  the  next  field  were  con- 
fronted by  a  tall,  stone-faced  bank.  Every  one, 
always  excepting  myself,  was  riding  with  that 
furious  valour  which  is  so  conspicuous  when  neigh- 
bouring hunts  meet,  and  the  leading  half-dozen 
charged  the  obstacle  at  steeplechase  speed.  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  young  lady  in  the  grey 
habit,  sitting  square  and  strong  as  her  mare  topped 
the  bank,  with  Flurry  and  the  redoubtable  Mr. 
Tomsy  Flood  riding  on  either  hand  ;  I  followed  in 


32     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

their  wake,  with  a  blind  confidence  in  the  Quaker, 
and  none  at  all  in  myself.  He  refused  it.  I  sup- 
pose it  was  in  token  of  affection  and  gratitude  that 
I  fell  upon  his  neck  j  at  all  events,  I  had  reason 
to  respect  his  judgment,  as,  before  I  had  recovered 
myself,  the  hounds  were  straggling  back  into  the 
field  by  a  gap  lower  down. 

It  finally  appeared  that  the  hounds  could  do  no 
more  with  the  line  they  had  been  hunting,  and  we 
proceeded  to  jog  interminably,  I  knew  not  whither. 
During  this  unpleasant  process  Flurry  Knox  be- 
stowed on  me  many  items  of  information,  chiefly 
as  to  the  pangs  of  jealousy  he  was  inflicting  on  Mr. 
Flood  by  his  attentions  to  the  lady  in  the  grey 
habit,  Miss  "  Bobbie  "  Bennett. 

"She'll  have  all  old  Handcock's  money  one  of 
these  days — she's  his  niece,  y'  know — and  she's  a 
good  girl  to  ride,  but  she's  not  as  young  as  she 
was  ten  years  ago.  You'd  be  looking  at  a  chicken 
a  long  time  before  you  thought  of  her  1  She  might 
take  Tomsy  some  day  if  she  can't  do  any  better." 
He  stopped  and  looked  at  me  with  a  gleam  in  his 
eye.  "  Come  on,  and  I'll  introduce  you  to  her  1 " 

Before,  however,  this  privilege  could  be  mine,  the 
whole  cavalcade  was  stopped  by  a  series  of  distant 
yells,  which  apparently  conveyed  information  to 
the  hunt,  though  to  me  they  only  suggested  a  Red 
Indian  scalping  his  enemy.  The  yells  travelled 
rapidly  nearer,  and  a  young  man  with  a  scarlet 
face  and  a  long  stick  sprang  upon  the  fence,  and 
explained  that  he  and  Patsy  Lorry  were  after 
chasing  a  hare  two  miles  down  out  of  the  hill 


In  the  Curranhilty  Country  33 

above,  and  ne'er  a  dog  nor  a  one  with  them  but 
themselves,  and  she  was  lying,  beat  out,  under  a 
bush,  and  Patsy  Lorry  was  minding  her  until  the 
hounds  would  come.  I  had  a  vision  of  the  humane 
Patsy  Lorry  fanning  the  hare  with  his  hat,  but 
apparently  nobody  else  found  the  fact  unusual. 
The  hounds  were  hurried  into  the  fields,  the  hare 
was  again  spurred  into  action,  and  I  was  again 
confronted  with  the  responsibilities  of  the  chase. 
After  the  first  five  minutes  I  had  discovered  several 
facts  about  the  Quaker.  If  the  bank  was  above 
a  certain  height  he  refused  it  irrevocably,  if  it 
accorded  with  his  ideas  he  got  his  forelegs  over 
and  ploughed  through  the  rest  of  it  on  his  stifle- 
joints,  or,  if  a  gripe  made  this  inexpedient,  he 
remained  poised  on  top  till  the  fabric  crumbled 
under  his  weight.  In  the  case  of  walls  he  butted 
them  down  with  his  knees,  or  squandered  them 
with  his  hind-legs.  These  operations  took  time, 
and  the  leaders  of  the  hunt  streamed  farther  and 
farther  away  over  the  crest  of  a  hill,  while  the 
Quaker  pursued  at  the  equable  gallop  of  a  horse 
in  the  Bayeux  Tapestry. 

I  began  to  perceive  that  I  had  been  adopted  as 
a  pioneer  by  a  small  band  of  followers,  who,  as 
one  of  their  number  candidly  explained,  "  liked  to 
have  some  one  ahead  of  them  to  soften  the  banks," 
and  accordingly  waited  respectfully  till  the  Quaker 
had  made  the  rough  places  smooth,  and  taken  the 
raw  edge  off  the  walls.  They,  in  their  turn,  showed 
me-  alternative  routes  when  the  obstacle  proved 
above  the  Quaker's  limit ;  thus,  in  ignoble  con- 

c 


34     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

federacy,  I  and  this  offscourings  of  the  Curranhilty 
hunt  pursued  our  ,way  across  some  four  miles  of 
country.  When  at  length  we  parted  it  was  with 
extreme  regret  on  both  sides.  A  river  crossed  our 
course,  with  boggy  banks  pitted  deep  with  the 
hoof-marks  of  our  forerunners ;  I  suggested  it  to 
the  Quaker,  and  discovered  that  Nature  had  not 
in  vain  endued  him  with  the  hindquarters  of  the 
hippopotamus.  I  presume  the  others  had  jumped 
it ;  the  Quaker,  with  abysmal  flounderings,  walked 
through  and  heaved  himself  to  safety  on  the  farther 
bank.  It  was  the  dividing  of  the  ways.  My  friendly 
company  turned  aside  as  one  man,  and  I  was  left 
with  the  world  before  me,  and  no  guide  save  the 
hoof-marks  in  the  grass.  These  presently  led  me 
to  a  road,  on  the  other  side  of  which  was  a  bank, 
that  was  at  once  added  to  the  Quaker's  black  list. 
The  rain  had  again  begun  to  fall  heavily,  and  was 
soaking  in  about  my  elbows  ;  I  suddenly  asked 
myself  why,  in  Heaven's  name,  I  should  go  any 
farther.  No  adequate  reason  occurred  to  me,  and 
I  turned  in  what  I  believed  to  be  the  direction 
of  Drumcurran. 

I  rode  on  for  possibly  two  or  three  miles  with- 
out seeing  a  human  being,  until,  from  the  top  of 
a  hill  I  descried  a  solitary  lady  rider.  I  started' 
in  pursuit.  The  rain  kept  blurring  my  eye-glass, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  rider  was  a  schoolgirl 
with  hair  hanging  down  her  back,  and  that  her  horse 
was  a  trifle  lame.  I  pressed  on  to  ask  my  way,  and 
discovered  that  I  had  been  privileged  to  overtake 
no  less  a  person  than  Miss  Bobbie  Bennett, 


In  the  Curranhllty  Country  35 

My  question  as  to  the  route  led  to  information 
of  a  varied  character.  Miss  Bennett  was  going  that 
way  herself ;  her  mare  had  given  her  what  she 
called  "a  toss  and  a  half,"  whereby  she  had 
strained  her  arm  and  the  mare  her  shoulder,  her 
habit  had  been  torn,  and  she  had  lost  all  her 
hairpins. 

"  I'm  an  awful  object,"  she  concluded  ;  "  my 
hair's  the  plague  of  my  life  out  hunting  1  I  declare 
I  wish  to  goodness  I  was  bald  1 " 

I  struggled  to  the  level  of  the  occasion  with  an 
appropriate  protest.  She  had  really  very  brilliant 
grey  eyes,,  and  her  complexion  was  undeniable. 
Philippa  has  since  explained  to  me  that  it  is  a 
mere  male  fallacy  that  any  woman  can  look  well 
with  her  hair  down  her  back,  but  I  have  always 
maintained  that  Miss  Bobbie  Bennett,  with  the  rain 
glistening  on  her  dark  tresses,  looked  uncommonly 
well. 

"  I  shall  never  get  it  dry  for  the  dance  to-night/' 
she  complained. 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you,"  said  I. 

"  Perhaps  you've  got  a  hairpin  or  two  about 
you  ! "  said  she,  with  a  glance  that  had  certainly 
done  great  execution  before  now. 

I  disclaimed  the  possession  of  any  such  tokens, 
but  volunteered  to  go  and  look  for  some  at  a  neigh- 
bouring cottage. 

The  cottage  door  was  shut,  and  my  knockings 
were  answered  by  a  stupefied-looking  elderly  man. 
Conscious  of  my  own  absurdity,  I  asked  him  if  he 
had  any  hairpins. 


36     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  I  didn't  see  a  hare  this  week  1 "  he  responded  in 
a  slow  bellow. 

"  Hairpins  1 "  I  roared  ;  "  has  your  wife  any  hair- 
pins ?  " 

"  She  has  not."  Then,  as  an  after-thought,  "  She's 
dead  these  ten  years." 

At  this  point  a  young  woman  emerged  from  the 
cottage,  and,  with  many  coy  grins,  plucked  from 
her  own  head  some  half-dozen  hairpins,  crooked, 
and  grey  with  age,  but  still  hairpins,  and  as  such 
well  worth  my  shilling.  I  returned  with  my  spoil 
to  Miss  Bennett,  only  to  be  confronted  with  a  fresh 
difficulty.  The  arm  that  she  had  strained  was  too 
stiff  to  raise  to  her  head. 

Miss  Bobbie  turned  her  handsome  eyes  upon  me. 
"  It's  no  use,"  she  said  plaintively,  "  I  can't  do  it  1 " 

I  looked  up  and  down  the  road  ;  there  was  no 
one  in  sight.  I  offered  to  do  it  for  her.  , 

Miss  Bennett's  hair  was  long,  thick,  and  soft  ;  it 
was  also  slippery  with  rain.  I  twisted  it  conscien- 
tiously, as  if  it  were  a  hay  rope,  until  Miss  Bennett, 
with  an  irrepressible  shriek,  told  me  it  would  break 
off.  I  coiled  the  rope  with  some  success,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  nail  it  to  her  head  with  the  hairpins. 
At  all  the  most  critical  points  one,  if  not  both, 
of  the  horses  moved ;  hairpins  were  driven  home 
into  Miss  Bennett's  skull,  and  were  with  difficulty 
plucked  forth  again  ;  in  fact,  a  more  harrowing 
performance  can  hardly  be  imagined,  but  Miss 
Bennett  bore  it  with  the  heroism  of  a.  pin-cushion. 

I  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  the  coiffure 
when  some  sound  made  me  look  round,  and  I 


In  the  Curranhtlty  Country  37 

beheld  at  a  distance  of  some  fifty  yards  the  entire 
hunt  approaching  us  at  a  foot-pace.  I  lost  my 
head,  and,  instead  of  continuing  my  task,  I  dropped 
the  last  hairpin  as  if  it  were  red-hot,  and  kicked 
the  Quaker  away  to  the  far  side  of  the  road,  thus, 
if  it  were  possible,  giving  the  position  away  a  shade 
more  generously. 

There  were  fifteen  riders  in  the  group  that  over- 
took us,  and  fourteen  of  them,  including  the  Whip, 
were  grinning  from  ear  to  ear ;  the  fifteenth  was 
Mr.  Tomsy  Flood,  and  he  showed  no  sign  of  appre- 
ciation. He  shoved  his  horse  past  me  and  up  to 
Miss  Bennett,  his  red  moustache  bristling,  trucu- 
lence  in  every  outline  of  his  heavy  shoulders.  His 
green  coat  was  muddy,  and  his  hat  had  a  cave  in 
it.  Things  had  apparently  gone  ill  with  him. 

Flurry's  witticisms  held  out  for  about  two  miles 
and  a  half ;  I  do  not  give  them,  because  they  were 
not  amusing,  but  they  all  dealt  ultimately  with  the 
animosity  that  I,  in  common  with  himself,  should 
henceforth  have  to  fear  from  Mr.  Flood. 

"Oh,  he's  a  holy  terror  !"  he  said  conclusively ; 
"he  was  riding  the  tails  off  the  hounds  to-day  to 
best  me.  He  was  near  killing  me  twice.  We  had 
some  words  about  it,  I  can  tell  you.  I  very  near 
took  my  whip  to  him.  Such  a  bull-rider  of  a  fellow 
I  never  saw  I  He  wouldn't  so  much  as  stop  to 
catch  Bobbie  Bennett's  horse  when  I  picked  her 
up,  he  was  riding  so  jealous.  His  own  girl,  mind 
you  !  And  such  a  crumpler  as  she  got  too  !  I 
declare  she  knocked  a  groan  out  of  the  road  when 
she  struck  it  1 " 


38     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  She  doesn't  seem  so  much  hurt  ? "  I  said. 

"  Hurt ! "  said  Flurry,  flicking  casually  at  a  hound. 
"You  couldn't  hurt  that  one  unless  you  took  a 
hatchet  to  her  ! " 

The  rain  had  reached  a  pitch  that  put  further 
hunting  out  of  the  question,  and  we  bumped  home 
at  that  intolerable  pace  known  as  a  "hound's  jog." 
I  spjsnt  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  over  a  fire 
in  my  bedroom  in  the  Royal  Hotel,  Drumcurran, 
official  letters  to  write  having  mercifully  provided 
me  with  an  excuse  for  seclusion,  while  the  bar  and 
the  billiard-room  hummed  below,  and  the  Quaker's 
three-cornered  gallop  wreaked  its  inevitable  revenge 
upon  my  person.  As  this  process  continued,  and 
I  became  proportionately  embittered,  I  asked  my- 
self, not  for  the  first  time,  what  Philippa  would 
say  when  introduced  to  my  present  circle  of  ac- 
quaintances. 

I  have  already  mentioned  that  a  dance  was  to 
take  place  at  the  hotel,  given,  as  far  as  I  could 
gather,  by  the  leading  lights  of  the  Curranhilty 
Hunt.  A  less  jocund  guest  than  the  wreck  who 
at  the  pastoral  hour  of  nfne  crept  stiffly  dawn  to 
"chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet"  could 
hardly  have  been  encountered.  The  dance  was 
held  in  the  coffee-room,  and  a  conspicuous  object 
outside  the  door  was  a  saucer  bath  full  of  some- 
thing that  looked  like  flour. 

"  Rub  your  feet  in  that/'  said  Flurry ;  "  that's 
French  chalk  I  They  hadn't  time  to  do  the  floor, 
so  they  hit  on  this  dodge." 

I  complied  with  this  encouraging  direction,  and 


In  the  Curranfnlty  Country  39 

followed  him  into-  the  room.  Dancing  had  already 
begun,  and  the  first  sight  that  met  my  eyes  was 
Miss  Bennett,  in  a  yellow  dress,  waltzing  with  Mr. 
Tomsy  Flood.  She  looked  very  handsome,  and, 
in  spite  of  her  accident,  she  was  getting  round  the 
sticky  floor  and  her  still  more  sticky  partner  with 
the  swing  of  a  racing  cutter.  Her  eye  caught  mine 
immediately,  and  with  confidence.  Clearly  our 
acquaintance  that,  in  the  space  of  twenty  minutes, 
had  blossomed  tropically  into  hair-dressing,  was 
not  to  be  allowed  to  wither.  Nor  was  I  myself 
allowed  to  wither.  Men,  known  and  unknown, 
plied  me  with  partners,  till  my  shirt  cuff  was  black 
with  names,  and  the  number  of  dances  stretched 
away  into  the  blue  distance  of  to-morrow  morning. 
The  music  was  supplied  by  the  organist  of  the 
church,  who  played  with  religious  unction  and  at 
the  pace  of  a  processional  hymn.  I  put  forth  into 
the  me!6e  with  a  junior  Bennett,  inferior  in  calibre 
to  Miss  Bobbie,  but  a  strong  goer,  and,  I  fear, 
made  but  a  sorry  debut  in  the  eyes  of  Drumcurran. 
At  every  other  moment  I  bumped  into  the  unfore- 
seen orbits  of  those  who  reversed,  and  of  those 
who  walked  their  partners  backwards  down  the 
room  with  faces  of  ineffable  supremacy.  Being  un- 
skilled in  these  intricacies  of  an  elder  civilisation,  the 
younger  Miss  Bennett  fared  but  ingloriously  at  my 
hands  ;  the  music  pounded  interminably  on,  until  the 
heel  of  Mr.  Flood  put  a  period  to  our  sufferings. 

"  The  nasty  dirty  filthy  brute  1 "  shrieked  the 
younger  Miss  Bennett  in  a  single  breath  ;  "  he's 
torn  the  gown  off  my  back  ! " 


40     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

She  whirled  me  to  the  cloak-room  ;  we  parted, 
mutually  unregretted,  at  its  door,  and  by,  I  fear, 
common  consent,  evaded  our  second  dance  to- 
gether. 

Many,  many  times  during  the  evening  I  asked 
myself  why  I  did  not  go  to  bed.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  remembrance  that  my  bed  was  situated  some 
ten  feet  above  the  piano  in  a  direct  line ;  but, 
whatever  was  the  reason,  the  night  wore  on  and 
found  me  still  working  my  way  down  my  shirt 
cuff.  I  sat  out  as  much  as  possible,  and  found 
my  partners  to  be,  as  a  body,  pretty,  talkative, 
and  ill  dressed,  and  during  the  evening  I  had 
many  and  varied  opportunities  of  observing  the 
rapid  progress  of  Mr.  Knox's  flirtation  with  Miss 
Bobbie  Bennett.  From  No.  4  to  No.  8  they  were 
invisible ;  that  they  were  behind  a  screen  in  the 
commercial  -  room  might  be  inferred  from  Mr. 
Flood's  thunder  -  cloud  presence  in  the  passage 
outside. 

At  No.  9  the  young  lady  emerged  for  one  of  her 
dances  with  me  ;  it  was 'a  barn  dance,  and  particu- 
larly trying  to  my  momently  stiffening  muscles  ; 
but  Miss  Bobbie,  whether  in  dancing  or  sitting  out, 
went  in  for  "  the  rigour  of  the  game."  She  was  in 
as  hard  condition  as  one  of  her  uncle's  hounds, 
and  for  a  full  fifteen  minutes  I  capered  and  swooped 
beside  her,  larding  the  lean  earth  as  I  went,  and 
replying  but  spasmodically  to  her  even  flow  of 
conversation. 

"That'll  take  the  stiffness  out  of  you  1"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  the  organist  slowed  down  reverentially 


In  the  Curranhilty  Country  41 

to  a  conclusion.     "  I  had  a  bet  with  Flurry  Knox 


MR.  FLOOD'S  THUNDER-CLOUD  PRESBNCB 

over  that  dance.     He  said  you  weren't  up  to  my 
weight  at  the  pace  I " 


42     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

I  led  her  forth  to  the  refreshment  table,  and  was 
watching  with  awe  her  fearless  consumption  of 
claret  cup  that  I  would  not  have  touched  for  a 
sovereign,  when  Flurry,  with  a  partner  on  his  arm, 
strolled  past  us. 

"  Well,  you  won  the  gloves,  Miss  Bobbie  1 "  he 
said.  "  Don't  you  wish  you  may  get  them/. " 

"  Gloves  without  the  g,  Mr.  Knox ! "  replied 
Miss  Bennett,  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  reach 
the  end  of  the  passage,  where  Mr.  Thomas  Flood 
was  burying  his  nose  in  a  very  brown  whisky- 
and-soda. 

"  Your  hair's  coming  down  ! "  retorted  Flurry. 
"  Ask  Major  Yeates1  if  he  can  spare  you  a  few 
hairpins  ! " 

Swifter  than  lightning  Miss  Bennett  hurled  a 
macaroon  at  her  retreating  foe,  missed  him,  and 
subsided  laughing  on  to  a  sofa.  I  mopped  my  brow 
and  took  my  seat  beside  her,  wondering  how  much 
longer  I  could  live  up  to  the  social  exigencies  of 
Drumcurran. 

Miss  Bennett,  however,  proved  excellent  com- 
pany. She  told  me  artfully,  and  inch  by  inch,  all 
that  Mr.  Flood  had  said  to  her  on  the  subject  of 
my  hair-dressing  ;  she  admitted  that  she  had,  as  a 
punishment,  cut  him  out  of  three  dances  and  given 
them  to  Flurry  Knox.  When  I  remarked  that  in 
fairness  they  should  have  been  given  to  me,  she 
darted  a  very  attractive  glance  at  -me,  and  perti- 
nently observed  that  I  had  not  asked  for  them, 

As  steals  the  dawn  into  a  fevered  room, 

And  says  "  Be  of  good  cheer,  the  day  is  born  !" 


In  the  Curranhilty  Country  43 

so  did  the  rumour  of  supper  pass  among  the 
chaperons,  male  and  female.  It  was  obviously  due 
to  a  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  that  Mrs.  Bennett 
was  apportioned  to  me,  and  I  found  myself  in  the 
gratifying  position  of  heading  with'  her  the  proces- 
sion to  supper.  My  impressions  of  Mrs.  Bennett 
are  few  but  salient.  She  wore  an  apple-green  satin 
dress  and  filled  it  tightly  ;  wisely  mistrusting  the 
hotel  supper,  she  had  imported  sandwiches  and 
cake  in  a  pocket-handkerchief,  and,  warmed  by 
two  glasses  of  sherry,  she  made  me  the  recipient 
of  the  remarkable  confidence  that  she  had  but  two 
back  teeth  in  her  head,  but,  thank  God,  they  met. 
When,  with  the  other  starving  men,  I  fell  upon  the 
remains  of  the  feast,  I  regretted  that  I  had  declined 
her  offer  of  a  sandwich. 

Of  the  remainder  of  the  evening  I  am  unable  to 
give  a  detailed  account.  Let  it  not  for  one  instant 
be  imagined  that  I  had  looked  upon  the  wine  of  the 
Royal  Hotel  when  it  was  red,  or,  indeed,  any  other 
colour ;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  espied  an  incon- 
spicuous corner  in  the  entrance  hall,  and  there  I 
first  smoked  a  cigarette,  and  subsequently  sank  into 
uneasy  sleep.  Through  my  dreams  I  was  aware  of 
the  measured  pounding  of  the  piano,  of  the  clatter 
of  glasses  at  the  bar,  of  wheels  in  the  street,  and 
then,  more  clearly,  of  Flurry's  voice  assuring  Miss 
Bennett  that  if  she'd  only  wait  for  another  dance 
he'd  get  the  R.M.  out  of  bed  to  do  her  hair  for  her 
— then  again  oblivion. 

At  some  later  period  I  was  dropping  down  a 
chasm  on  the  Quaker's  back,  and  landing  with  a 


44     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

shock  ;  I  was  twisting  his  mane  into  a  chignon, 
when  he  turned  round  his  head  and  caught  my 
arm  in  his  teeth.  I  awoke  with  4he  dew  of  terror 
on  my  forehead,  to  find  Miss  Bennett  leaning  over 
me  in  a  scarlet  cloak  with  a  hood  over  her  head, 
and  shaking  me  by  my  coat  sleeve. 

"  Major  Yeates,"  she  began  at  once  in  a  hurried 
whisper,  "  I  want  you  to  find  Flurry  Knox,  and  tell 
him  there's  a  plan  to  feed  his  hounds  at  six  o'clock 
this  morning  so  as  to  spoil  their  hunting  1 " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  I  asked,  jumping  up. 

"  My  little  brother  told  me.  He  came  in  with  us 
to-night  to  see  the  dance,  and  he  was  hanging 
round  in  the  stables,  and  he  heard  one  of  the  men 
telling  another  there  was  a  dead  mule  in  an  out- 
house in  Bride's  -Alley,  all  cut  up  ready  to  give  to 
Mr.  Knox's  hounds." 

"  But  why  shouldn't  they  get  it  ? "  I  asked  in 
sleepy  stupidity. 

"  Is  it  fill  tljem  up  with  an  old  mule  just  before 
they're  going  out  hunting  ?  "  flashed  Miss  Bennett. 
"  Hurry  and  tell  Mr.  Knox  ;  don't  let  Tomsy  Flood 
see  you  telling  him — or  any  one  else." 

"  Oh,  then  it's  Mr.  Flood's  game  ?  "  I  said,  grasp- 
ing the  situation  at  length. 

"  It  is,"  said  Miss  Bennett,  suddenly  turning 
scarlet ;  "  he's  a  disgrace  !  I'm  ashamed  of  him  ! 
I'm  done  with  him  ! " 

I  resisted  a  strong  disposition  to  shake  Miss 
Bennett  by  the  hand. 

"  I  can't  wait,"  she  continued.  "  I  made  my 
mother  drive  back  a  mile — she  doesn't  know  a 


In  the  Curranhilty  Country  45 

thing  about  it — I  said  I'd  left  my  purse  in  the 
cloak-room.  Good-night  !  Don't  tell  a  soul  but 
Flurry  1 " 

She  was  off,  and  upon  my  incapable  shoulders 
rested  the  responsibility  of  the  enterprise. 

It  was  past  four  o'clock,  and  the  last  bars  of  the 
last  waltz  were  being  played.  At  the  bar  a  knot 
of  men,  with  Flurry  in  their  midst,  were  tossing 
"  Odd  man  out "  for  a  bottle  of  champagne. 
Flurry  was  not  in  the  least  drunk,  a  circumstance 
worthy  of  remark  in  his  present  company,  and 
I  got  him  out  into  the  hall  and  unfolded  my 
tidings.  The  light  of  battle  lit  in  his  eye  as  he 
listened. 

"  I  knew  by  Tomsy  he  was  shaping  for  mischief," 
he  said  coolly  ;  "  he's  taken  as  much  liquor  as'd 
stiffen  a  tinker,  and  he's  only  half-drunk  this 
minute.  Hold  on  till  I  get  Jerome  Hickey  and 
Charlie  Knox — they're  sober  ;  I'll  be  back  in  a 
minute." 

I  was  not  present  at  the  council  of  war  thus 
hurriedly  convened  ;  I  was  merely  informed  when 
they  returned  that  we  were  all  to  "  hurry  on." 
My  best  evening  pumps  have  never  recovered  the 
subsequent  proceedings.  They,  with  my  swelled 
and  aching  feet  inside  them,  were  raced  down  one 
filthy  lane  after  another,  until,  somewhere  on  the 
outskirts  of  Drumcurran,  Flurry  pushed  open  the 
gate  of  a  yard  and  went  in.  It  was  nearly  five 
o'clock  on  that  raw  December  morning  ;  low  down 
in  the  sky  a  hazy  moon  shed  a  diffused  light  ;  all 
the  surrounding  houses  were  still  and  dark.  At 


46     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

our  footsteps  an  angry  bark  or  two  came  from 
inside  the  stable. 

"  Whisht  1 "  said  Flurry,  "  I'll  say  a  word  to  them 
before  I  open  the  door." 

At  his  voice  a  chorus  of  hysterical  welcome 
arose ;  without  more  delay  he  flung  open  the 
stable  door,  and  instantly  we  were  all  knee-deep 
in  a  rush  of  hounds.  There  was  not  a  moment 
lost.  Flurry  started  at  a  quick  run  out  of  the  yard 
with  the  whole  pack  pattering  at  his  heels.  Charley 
Knox  vanished  ;  Dr.  Hickey  and  I  followed  the 
hounds,  splashing  into  puddles  and  hobbling  over 
patches  of  broken  stones,  till  we  left  the  town 
behind  and  hedges  arose  on  either  hand. 

"  Here's  the  house  ! "  said  Flurry,  stopping  short 

at  a  low  entrance  gate  ;  "  many's  th£  time  I've  been 

"here  when  his  father  had  it ;  it'll  be  a  queer  thing  if 

I  can't  find  a  window  I  can  manage,  and  the  old 

cook  he  has  is  as  deaf  as  the  dead." 

He  and  Doctor  Hickey  went  in  at  the  gate 
with  the  hounds  \  I  hesitated  ignobly  in  the 
mud. 

"This  isn't  an  R.M.'s  job,"  said  Flurry  in  a 
whisper,  closing  the  gate  in  my  face  ;  "  you'd  best 
keep  clear  of  house-breaking." 

I  accepted  his  advice,  but  I  may  admit  that 
before  I  turned  for  home  a  sash  was  gently 
raised,  a  light  had  sprung  up  in  one  of  the  lower 
windows,  and  I  heard  Flurry's  voice  saying,  "  Over, 
over,  over  ! "  to  his  hounds. 

There  seemed  to  me  to  be  no  interval  at  all 
between  these  events  and  the  moment  when  I 


In  the  Curranhilty  Country  47 

woke  in  bright  sunlight  to  find  Dr.  Hickey  standing 
by  my  bedside  in  a  red  coat  with  a  tall  glass  in 
his  hand. 

"  It's  nine  o'clock,"  he  said.  "  I'm  just  after 
waking  Flurry  Knox.  There  wasn't  one  stirring 
in  the  hotel  till  I  went  down  and  pulled  the 
'  boots '  from  under  the  kitchen  table  !  It's  well 
for  us  the  meet's  in  the  town  ;  and,  by-the-bye, 
your  grey  horse  has  four  legs  on  him  the  size  of 
bolsters  this  morning  ;  he  won't  be  fit  to  go  out, 
I'm  afraid.  Drink  this  anyway,  you're  in  the  want 
of  it." 

Dr.  Hickey's  eyelids  were  rather  pink,  but  his 
hand  was  as  steady  as  a  rock.  The  whisky-and- 
soda  was  singularly  untempting. 

"  What  happened  last  night  ?  "  I  asked  eagerly  as 
I  gulped  it. 

"  Oh,  it  all  went  off  very  nicely,  thank  you,"  said 
Hickey,  twisting  his  black  beard  to  a  point.  "  We 
benched  as  many  of  the  hounds  in  Flood's  bed  as'd 
fit,  and  we  shut  the  lot  into  the  room.  We  had 
them  just  comfortable  when  we  heard  his  latchkey 
below  at  the  door."  He  broke  off  and  began  to 
snigger. 

"  Well  ?  "  I  said,  sitting  bolt  upright. 

"  Well,  he  got  in  at  last,  and  he  lit  a  candle 
then.  That  took  him  five  minutes.  He  was  pretty 
tight.  We  were  looking  at  him  over  the  banisters 
until  he  started  to  come  up,  and  according  as  he 
came  up,  we  went  on  up  the  top  flight.  He  stood 
admiring  his  candle  for  a  while  on  the  landing,  and 
we  wondered  he  didn't  hear  the  hounds  snuffing 


48     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

under  the  door.  He  opened  it  then,  and;  on  the 
minute,  three  of  them  bolted  out  between  his  legs." 
Dr.  Hickey  again  paused  to  indulge  in  Mephisto- 
phelian  laughter.  "  Well,  you  know,"  he  went  on, 
"  when  a  man  in  poor  Tomsy's  condition  sees  six 
dogs  jumping  out  of  his  bed  he's  apt  to  make  a 
wrong  diagnosis.  He  gave  a  roar,  and  pitched  the 
candlestick  at  them,  and  ran  for  his  life  downstairs, 
and  all  the  hounds  after  hihi.  '  Gone  away  1 ' 
screeches  that  devil  Flurry,  pelting  downstairs  on 
top  of  them  in  the  dark.  I  believe  I  screeched 
too." 

"  Good  heavens  ! "  I  gasped,  "  I  was  well  out  of 
that  ! " 

"  Well,  you  were,"  admitted  the  Doctor.  "  How- 
ever, Tomsy  bested  them  in  the  dark,  and  he  got 
to  ground  in  the  pantry.  I  heard  the  cups  and 
saucers  go  as  he  slammed  the  door  on  the  hounds' 
noses,  and  the  minute  he  was  in  Flurry  turned 
the  key  on  him.  'They're  real  dogs,  Tomsy,  my 
buck  ! '  says  Flurry,  just  to  quiet  him  ;  and  there 
we  left  him." 

"  Was  he  hurt  ? "  I  asked,  conscious  of  the 
triviality  of  the  question. 

"  Well,  he  lost  his  brush,"  replied  Dr.  Hickey. 
"  Old  Merrylegs  tore  the  coat-tails  off  him  ;  we  got 
them  on  the  floor  when  we  struck  a  light ;  Flurry 
has  them  to  nail  on  his  kennel  door.  Charley 
Knox  had  a  pleasant  time  too,"  he  went  on,  "  with 
the  man  that  brought  the  barrow-load  of  meat  to 
the  stable.  We  picked  out  the  tastiest  bits  and 
arranged  them  round  Flood's  breakfast  table  for 


In  the  Curranhilty  Country  49 

him.    They  smelt  very  nice.    Well,   I'm  delaying 
you  with  my  talking——" 

Flurry's  hounds  had  the  run  of  the  season  that 
day.  I  saw  it  admirably  throughout — from  Miss 
Bennett's  pony  cart.  She  drove  extremely  well, 
in  spite  of  her  strained  arm. 


HI 
TRINKET'S  COLT 

IT  was  petty  sessions  day  in  Skebawn,  a  cold, 
grey  day  of  February.  A  case  of  trespass  .had 
dragged  its  burden  of  cross  summonses  and  cross 
swearing  far  into  the  afternoon,  and  when  I  left 
the  bench  my  head  was  singing  from  the  bellow- 
ings  of  the  attorneys,  and  the  smell  of  their  clients 
was  heavy  upon  my  palate. 

The  streets  still  testified  to  the  fact  that  it  was 
market  day,  and  I  evaded  with  difficulty  the_  sinuous 
course  of  carts  full  of  soddenly  screwed  people, 
and  steered  an  equally  devious  one  for  myself 
among  the  groups  anchored  round  the  doors  of 
the  public-houses.  Skebawn  possesses,  among  its 
legion  of  public-houses,  one  establishment  which 
timorously,  and  almost  imperceptibly,  proffers  tea 
to  the  thirsty.  I  turned  in  there,  as  was  my 
custom  on  court  days,  and  found  the  little  dingy 
den,  known  as  the  Ladies'  Coffee- Room,  in  the 
occupancy  of  my  friend  Mr.  Florence  McCarthy 
Knox,  who  was  drinking  strong  tea  and  eating  buns 
with  serious  simplicity.  It  was  a  first  and  quite 
unexpected  glimpse  of  that  domesticity  that  has 
now  become  a  marked  feature  in  his  character, 

5° 


Trinket's  Colt  51 

"You're  the  very  man  I  wanted  to  see,"  I  said 
as  I  sat  down  beside  him  at  the  oilcloth-covered 
table  ;  "  a  man  I  know  in  England  who  is  not 
much  of  a  judge  of  character  has  asked  me  to  buy 
him  a  four-year-old  down  here,  and  as  I  should 


DRINKING   STRONG  TEA  AND  EATING   BUNS  WITH 
SERIOUS   SIMPLICITY 


rather  be  stuck  by  a  friend  than  a  dealer,  I  wish 
you'd  take  over  the  job." 

Flurry  poured  himself  out  another  cup  of  tea, 
and  dropped  three  lumps  of  sugar  into  it  in 
silence. 


52     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Finally  he  said,  "There  isn't  a  four-year-old  in 
this  country  that  I'd  be  seen  dead  with  at  a  pig 
fair." 

This  was  discouraging,  from  the  premier  autho- 
rity on  horse-flesh  in  the  district. 

"  But  it  isn't  six  weeks  since  you  told  me  you 
had  the  finest  filly  in  your  stables  that  was  ever 
foaled  in  the  County  Cork/'  I  protested ;  "  what's 
wrong  with  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  is  it  that  filly  ? "  said  Mr.  Knox  with  a 
lenient  smile  ;  "  she's  gone  these  three  weeks  from 
me.  I  swapped  her  and  £6  for  a  three-year-old 
Ironmonger  colt,  and  after  that  I  swapped  the 
colt  and  .£19  for  that  Bandon  horse  I  rode  last 
week  at  your  place,  and  after  that  again  I  sold 
the  Bandon  horse  for  .£75  to  old  Welply,  and  I 
had  to  give  him  back  a  couple  of  sovereigns  luck- 
money.  You  see  I  did  pretty  well  with  the  filly 
after  all." 

"  Yes,  yes— -oh  rather,"  I  assented,  as  one  dizzily 
accepts  the  propositions  of  a  bimetallist ;  "  and 
you  don't  know  of  anything  else ?  " 

The  room  in  which  we  were  seated  was  closely 
screened  from  the  shop  by  a  door  with  a  muslin  - 
curtained  window  in  it ;  several  of  the  panes  were 
broken,  and  at  this  juncture  two  voices  that  had 
for  some  time  carried  on  a  discussion  forced  them- 
selves upon  our  attention. 

"  Begging  your  pardon  for  contradicting  you, 
ma'am,"  said  the  voice  of  Mrs.  McDonald,  pro- 
prietress of  the  tea-shop,  and  a  leading  light  in 
Skebawn  Dissenting  circles,  shrilly  tremulous  with 


Trinket's   Colt  53 

indignation,  "  if  the  servants  I  recommend  you 
won't  stop  with  you,  it's  no  fault  of  mine.  If 
respectable  young  girls  are  set  picking  grass  out 
of  your  gravel,  in  place  of  their  proper  work, 
certainly  they  will  give  warning  !  " 

The  voice  that  replied  struck  me  as  being  a 
notable  one,  well-bred  and  imperious. 

"  When  I  take  a  barefooted  slut  out  of  a  cabin, 
I  don't  expect  her  to  dictate  to  me  what  her  duties 
are  ! " 

Flurry  jerked  up  his  chin  in  a  noiseless  laugh. 
"  It's  my  grandmother  !  "  he  whispered.  "  I  bet  you 
Mrs.  McDonald  don't  get  much  change  out  of  her  !  " 

"  If  I  set  her  to  clean  the  pig-sty  I  expect  her 
to  obey  me,"  continued  the  voice  in  accents  that 
would  have  made  me  clean  forty  pig-sties  had  she 
desired  me  to  do  so. 

"  Very  well,  ma'am,"  retorted  Mrs.  McDonald, 
"  if  that's  the  way  you  treat  your  servants,  you 
needn't  come  here  again  looking  for  them.  I  con- 
sider your  conduct  is  neither  that  of  a  lady  nor  a 
Christian  I " 

"  Don't  you,  indeed  ?  "  replied  Flurry's  grand- 
mother. "  Well,  your  opinion  doesn't  greatly  dis- 
tress me,  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  think 
you're  much  of  a  judge." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  she'd  score  ? "  murmured 
Flurry,  who  was  by  this  time  applying  his  eye  to 
a  hole  in  the  muslin  curtain.  "  She's  off,"  he  went 
on,  returning  to  his  tea.  "  She's  a  great  character  I 
She's  eighty-three  if  she's  a  day,  and  she's  as  sound 
on  her  legs  as  a  three-year-old  !  Did  you  see  that 


54     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

old  shandrydan  of  hers  in  the  street  a  while  ago, 
and  a  fellow  on  the  box  with  a  red  beard  on  him 
like  Robinson  Crusoe  ?  That  old  mare  that  was 
on  the  near  side — Trinket  her  name  is — is  mighty  t 
near  clean  bred.  I  can  tell  you  her  foals  are  worth 
a  bit  of  money." 

I  had  heard  of  old  Mrs.  Knox  of  Aussolas  ;  in- 
deed, I  had  seldom  dined  out  in  the  neighbourhood 
without  hearing  some  new  story  of  her  and  her 
remarkable  manage,  but  it  had  not  yet  been  my 
privilege  to  meet  her. 

"  Well,  now,"  went  on  Flurry  in  his  slow  v.oice, 
"  I'll  tell  you  a  thing  that's  just  come  into  my  head. 
My  grandmother  promised  me  a  foal  of  Trinket's 
the  day  I  was  one-and-twenty,  and  that's  five  years 
ago,  and  deuce  a  one  I've  got  from  her  yet.  You 
never  were  at  Aussolas  ?  No,  you  were  not.  Well, 
I  tell  you  the  place  there  is  like  a  circus  with 
horses.  She  has  a  couple  of  score  of  them  running 
wild  in  the  woods,  like  deer." 

"  Oh,  come,"  I  said,  "  I'm  a  bit  of  a  liar  myself— 

"  Well,  she  has  a  dozen  of  them  anyhow,  rattling 
good  colts  too,  some  of  them,  but  they  might  as 
well  be  donkeys  for  all- the  good  they  are  to  me 
or  any  one.  It's  not  once  in  three  years  she  sells 
one,  and  there  she  has  them  walking  after  her  for 
bits  of  sugar,  like  a  lot  of  dirty  lapdogs,"  ended 
Flurry  with  disgust. 

"  Well,  what's  your  plan  ?  Do  you  want  me  to 
make  her  a  bid  for  one  of  the  lapdogs  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking,"  replied  Flurry,  with  great  de- 
liberation, "  that  my  birthday's  this  week,  and  maybe 


Trinket's  Colt  5$ 

I  could  work  a  four-year-old  colt  of  Trinket's  she 
has  out  of  her  in  honour  of  the  occasion." 

"And  sell  your  grandmother's  birthday  present 
tome?" 

"Just  that,  I  suppose,"  answered  Flurry  with  a 
slow  wink. 

A  few  days  afterwards  a  letter  from  Mr.  Knox 
informed  me  that  he  had  "  squared  the  old  lady, 
and  it  would  be  all  right  about  the  colt."  He 
further  told  me  that  Mrs.  Knox  had  been  good 
enough  to  offer  me,  with  him,  a  day's  snipe  shoot- 
ing on  the  celebrated  Aussolas  bogs,  and  he  pro- 
posed to  drive  me  there  the  following  Monday, 
if  convenient.  Most  people  found  it  convenient 
to  shoot  the  Aussolas  snipe  bog  when  they  got  the 
chance.  Eight  o'clock  on  the  following  Monday 
morning  saw  Flurry,  myself,  and  a  groom  packed 
into  a  dogcart,  with  portmanteaus,  gun-cases,  and 
two  rampant  red  setters. 

It  was  a  long  drive,  twelve  miles  at  least,  and  a 
very  cold  one.  We  passed  through  long  tracts 
of  pasture  country,  fraught,  for  Flurry,  with 
memories  of  runs,  which  were  recorded  for  me, 
fence  by  fence,  in  every  one  of  which  the  biggest 
clog-fox  in  the  country  had  gone  to  ground,  with 
not  two  feet — measured  accurately  on  the  handle 
of  the  whip — between  him  and  the  leading  hound  ; 
through  bogs  that  imperceptibly  melted  into  lakes, 
and  finally  down  and  down  into  a  valley,  where 
the  fir-trees  of  Aussolas  clustered  darkly  round  a 
glittering  lake,  and  all  but  hid*  the  grey  roofs  and 
pointed  gables  of  Aussolas  Castle. 


56     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  cf(.M. 

"  There's  a  nice  stretch  of  a  demesne  for  you," 
remarked  Flurry,  pointing  downwards  with  the 
whip,  "  and  one  little  old  woman  holding  it  all  in 
the  heel  of  her  fist.  Well  able  to  hold  it  she  is, 
too,  and  always  was,  and  she'll  live  twenty  years 
yet,  if  it's  only  to  spite  the  whole  lot  of  us,  and 
when  all's  said  and  done  goodness  knows  how 
she'll  leave  it ! " 

"It  strikes  me  you  were  lucky  to  keep  her  up  to 
her  promise  about  the  colt,"  I  said. 

Flurry  administered  a  composing  kick  to  the 
ceaseless  strivings  of  the  red  setters  under  the  seat. 

"  I  used  to  be  rather  a  pet  with  her,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause  ;  "  but  mind  you,  I  haven't  got  him 
yet,  and  if  she  gets  any  notion  I  want  to  sell  him 
I'll  never  get  him,  so  say  nothing  about  the  business 
to  her." 

The  tall  gates  of  Aussolas  shrieked  on  their 
hinges  as  they  admitted  us,  and  shut  with  a  clang 
behind  us,  in  the  faces  of  an  old  mare  and  a  couple 
of  young  horses,  who,  foiled  in  their  break  for  the 
excitements  of  the  outer  world,  turned  and  galloped 
defiantly  on  either  side  of  us.  Flurry's  admirable 
cob  hammered  on,  regardless  of  all  things  save  his 
duty. 

"  He's  the  only  one  I  have  that  I'd  trust  myself 
here  with,"  said  his  master,  flicking  him  approvingly 
with  the  whip  ;  "there  are  plenty  of  people  afraid 
to  come  here  at  all,  and  when  my  grandmother 
goes  out  driving  she  has  a  boy  on  the  box  with  a 
basket  Jull  of  stones  to  peg  at  them.  Talk  of  the 
dickens,  here  she  is  herself !  " 


Trinket's  Colt  57 

A  short,  upright  old  woman  was  approaching, 
preceded  by  a  white  woolly  dog  with  sore  eyes 
and  a  bark  like  a  tin  trumpet ;  we  both  got  out 
of  the  trap  and  advanced  to  meet  the  lady  of  the 
manor. 

I  may  summarise  her  attire  by  saying  that  she 
looked  as  if  she  had  robbed  a  scarecrow ;  her  face 
was  small  and  incongruously  refined,  the  skinny 
hand  that  she  extended  to  me  had  the  grubby  tan 
that  bespoke  the  professional  gardener,  and  was 
decorated  with  a  magnificent  diamond  ring.  On 
her  head  was  a  massive  purple  velvet  bonnet. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Major  Yeates,"  she 
said  with  an  old-fashioned  precision  of  utterance ; 
"your  grandfather  was  a  dancing  partner  of  mine 
in  old  days  at  the  Castle,  when  he  was  a  handsome 
young  aide-de-camp  there,  and  I  was  you  may 
judge  for  yourself  what  I  was." 

She  ended  with  a  startling  little  hoot  of  laughter, 
and  I  was  aware  that  she  quite  realised  the  world's 
opinion  of  her,  and  was  indifferent  to  it. 

Our  way  to  the  bogs  took  us  across  Mrs.  Knox's 
home  farm,  and  through  a  large  field  in  which 
several  young  horses  were  grazing. 

"There  now,  that's  my  fellow,"  said  Flurry, 
pointing  to  a  fine-looking  colt,  "  the  chestnut  with 
the  white  diamond  on  his  forehead.  He'll  run 
into  three  figures  before  he's  done,  but  we'll  not 
tell  that  to  the  old  lady  !  " 

The  famous  Aussolas  bogs  were  as  full  of  snipe 
as  usual,  and  a  good  deal  fuller  of  water  than  any 
bogs  I  had  ever  shot  before.  I  was  on  my  day, 


5  8     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

and  Flurry  was  not,  and  as  he  is  ordinarily  an 
infinitely  better  snipe  shot  than  I,  I  felt  at  peace 
with  the  world  and  all  men  as  we  walked  back,  wet 
through,  at  five  o'clock. 

The  sunset  had  waned,  and  a  big  white  moon 
was  making  the  eastern  tower  of  Aussolas  look  like 
a  thing  in  a  fairy  tale  or  a  play  when  we  arrived 
at  the  hall  door.  An  individual,  whom  I  recog- 
nised as  the  Robinson  Crusoe  coachman,  admitted 
us  to  a  hall,  the  like  of  which  one  does  not  often 
see.  The  walls  were  panelled  , with  dark  oak  up 
to  the  gallery  that  ran  round  three  sides  of  it,  the 
balusters  of  the  wide  staircase  were  heavily  carved, 
and  blackened  portraits  of  Flurry's  ancestors  on 
the  spindle  side  stared  sourly  down  on  their  de- 
scendant as  he  tramped  upstairs  with  the  bog 
mould  on  his  hobnailed  boots. 

We  had  just  changed  into  dry  clothes  when 
Robinson  Crusoe  shoved  his  red  beard  round  the 
corner  of  the  door,  with  the  information  that  the 
mistress  said  we  were  to  stay  for  dinner.  My  heart 
sank.  It  was  then  barely  half-past  five.  I  said 
something  about  having  no  evening  clothes  and 
having  to  get  home  early. 

"Sure  the  dinner'll  be  in  another  half-hour,"  said 
Robinson  Crusoe,  joining  hospitably  in  the  con- 
versation ;  "and  as  for  evening  clothes God 

bless  ye  ! " 

The  door  closed  behind  him. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Flurry,  "  I  dare  say  you'll  be 
glad  enough  to  eat  another  dinner  by  the  time  you 
get  home."  He  laughed.  "  Poor  Slipper !"  he  added 


Trinket's  Colt  |9 

inconseqtiently,  and  only  laughed  again   when   I 
asked  for  an  explanation. 

.  Old  Mrs.  Knox  received  us  in  the  library,  where 
she  was  seated  by  a  roaring  turf  fire,  which  lit  the 
room  a  good  deal  more  effectively  than  the  pair  of 
candles  that  stood  beside  her  in  tall  silver  candle- 
sticks. Ceaseless  and  implacable  growls  from  under 
her  chair  indicated  the  presence  of  the  woolly  dog. 
She  talked  with  confounding  culture  of  the  books 
that  rose  all  round  her  to  the  ceiling ;  -  her  evening 
dress  was  accomplished  by  means  of  an  additional 
white  shawl,  rather  dirtier  than  its  congeners  ;  as  I 
took  her  into  dinner  she  quoted  Virgil  to  me,  and 
in  the  same  breath  screeched  an  objurgation  at  a 
being  whose  matted  head  rose  suddenly  into  view 
from  behind  an  ancient  Chinese  screen,  as  I  have 
seen  the  head  of  a  Zulu  woman  peer  over  a  bush. 

Dinner  was  as  incongruous  as  everything  else. 
Detestable  soup  in  a  splendid  old  silver  tureen  that 
was  nearly  as  dark  in  hue  as  Robinson  Crusoe's 
thumb  ;  a  perfect  salmon,  perfectly  cooked,  on  a 
chipped  kitchen  dish ;  such  cut  glass  as  is  not 
easy  to  find  nowadays  ;  sherry  that,  as  Flurry 
subsequently  remarked,  would  burn  the  shell  off 
an  egg  ;  and  a  bottle  of  port,  draped  in  immemorial 
cobwebs,  wan  with  age,  and  probably  priceless. 
Throughout  the  vicissitudes  of  the  meal  Mrs.  Knox's 
conversation  flowed  on  undismayed,  directed  some- 
times at  me — she  had  installed  me  in  the  position 
of  friend  of  her  youth,  and  talked  to  me  as  if  I 
were  my  own*  grandfather — sometimes  at  Crusoe, 
with  whom  she  had  several  heated  arguments,  and 


60     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

sometimes  she  would  make  a  statement  of  remark- 
able frankness  on  the  subject  of  her  horse-farming 
affairs  to  Flurry,  who/  very  much  on  his  best 
behaviour,  agreed  with  all  she  said,  and  risked 
no  original  remark.  As  I  listened  to  them  both, 
I  remembered  with  infinite  amusement  how  he 
had  told  me  once  that  "a  pet  name  she  had  for 
him  was  '  Tony  Lumpkin,'  and  no  one  but 
herself  knew  what  she  meant  by  it."  U  seemed 
strange  that  she  made  no  allusion  to  Trinket's 
colt  or  to  Flurry's  birthday,  but,  mindful  of  my 
instructions,  I  held  my  peace. 

As,  at  about  half-past  eight,  we  drove  away  in 
the  moonlight,  Flurry  congratulated  me  solemnly 
on  my  success  with  his  grandmother.  He  was 
good  enough  to  tell  me  that  she  would  -marry  me 
to-morrow  if  I  asked  her,  and  he  wished  I  would, 
even  if  it  was  only  to  see  what  a  nice  grandson 
he'd  be  for  me.  A  sympathetic  giggle  behind  me 
told  me  that  Michael,  on  the  back  seat,  had  heard 
and  relished  the  jest. 

We  had  left  the  gates  of  Aussolas  about  half  a 
mile  behind  when,  at  the  corner  of  a  by-road, 
Flurry  pulled  up.  A  short  squat  figure  arose  from 
the  black  shadow  of  a  furze  bush  and  came  out 
into  the  moonlight,  swinging  its  arms  like  a  cab- 
man and  cursing  audibly. 

"Oh  murdher,  oh  murdher,  Misther  Flurry  ! 
What  kept  ye  at  all  ?  'Twould  perish  the  crows 
to  be  waiting  here  the  way  I  am  these  two 
hours " 

"Ah,  shut  your  mouth,  Slipper!"  said  Flurry, 


Trinket's  Colt  61 

who,  to  my  surprise,  had  turned  back  the  rug  and 
was  taking  off  his  driving  coat,  "  I  couldn't  help  it. 
Come  on,  Yeates,  we've  got  to  get  out  here." 

"  What  for  ?  "  I  asked,  in  not  unnatural  be- 
wilderment. 

"  It's  all  right.  I'll  tell  you  as  we  go  along," 
replied  my  companion,  who  was  already  turning 
to  follow  Slipper  up  the  by-road.  "  Take  the  trap 
on,  Michael,  and  wait  at  the  River's  Cross."  He 
waited  for  me  to  come  up  with  him,  and  then  put 
his  hand  on  my  arm.  "  You  see,  Major,  this  is  the 
way  it  is.  My  grandmother's  given  me  that  colt 
right  enough,  but  if  I  waited  for  her  to  send  him 
over  to  me  I'd  never  see  a  hair  of  his  tail.  So  I 
just  thought  that  as  we  were  over  here  we  might 
as  well  take  him  back  with  us,  and  maybe  you'll 
give  us  a  help  with  him ;  he'll  not  be  altogether 
too  handy  for  a  first  go  off." 

I  was  staggered.  An  infant  in  arms  could 
scarcely  have  failed  to  discern  the  fishiness  of  the 
transaction,  and  I  begged  Mr.  Knox  not  to  put 
himself  to  this  trouble  on  my  account,  as  I  had 
no  doubt  I  could  find  a  horse  for  my  friend  else- 
where. Mr.  Knox  assured  me  that  it  was  no 
trouble  at  all,  quite  the  contrary,  and  that,  since 
his  grandmother  had  given  him  the  colt,  he  saw 
no  reason  why  he  should  not  take  him  when  he 
wanted  him  ;  also,  that  if  I  didn't  want  him  he'd 
be  glad  enough  to  keep  him  himself ;  and  finally, 
that  I  wasn't  the  chap  to  go  back  on  a  friend,  but 
I  was  welcome  to  drive  back  to  Shreelane  with 
Michael  this  minute  if  I  liked. 


62     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Of  course  I  yielded  in  the  end.  I  told  Flurry 
I  should  lose  my  job  over  the  business,  and  he 
said  I  could  then  marry  his  grandmother,  and 
the  discussion  was  abruptly  closed  by  the  necessity 
of  following  Slipper  over  a  locked  five-barred 
gate. 

Our  pioneer  took  us  over  about  half  a  mile  of 
country,  knocking  down  stone  gaps  where  prac- 
ticable and  scrambling  over  tall  banks  in  the  de- 
ceptive moonlight.  We  found  ourselves  at  length 
in  a  field  with  a  shed  in  one  corner  of  it ;  in  a 
dim  group  of  farm  buildings  a  little  way  off  a 
light  was  shining. 

"  Wait  here,"  said  Flurry  to  me  in  a  whisper ; 
"  the  less  noise  the  better.  It's  an  open  shed,  and 
we'll  just  slip  in  and  coax  him  out." 

Slipper  unwound  from  his  waist  a  halter,  and 
my  colleagues  glided  like  spectres  into  the  shadow 
of  the  shed,  leaving  me  to  meditate  on  my  duties 
as  Resident  Magistrate,  and  on  the  questions  that 
would  be  asked  in  the  House  by  our  local  member 
when  Slipper  had  given  away  the  adventure  in 
his  cups. 

In  less  than  a  minute  three  shadows  emerged 
from  the  shed,  where  two  had  gone  in.  They  had 
got  the  colt. 

"  He  came  out  as  quiet  as  a  calf  when  he 
winded  the  sugar,"  said  Flurry ;  "  it  was  well  for 
me  I  filled  my  pockets  from  grandmamma's  sugar 
basin." 

He  and  Slipper  had  a  rope  from  each  side  of 
the  colt's  head  ;  they  took  him  quickly  across  a 


Trinket's  Colt  63 

field  towards  a  gate.  The  colt  stepped  daintily 
between  them  over  the  moonlit  grass ;  he  snorted 
occasionally,  but  appeared  on  the  whole  amenable. 

The  trouble  began  later,  and  was  due,  as  trouble 
often  is,  to  the  beguilements  of  a  short  cut.  Against 
the  maturer  judgment  of  Slipper,  Flurry  insisted 
on  following  a  route  that  he  assured  us  he  knew 
as  well  as  his  own  pocket,  and  the  consequence 
was  that  in  about  five  minutes  I  found  myself 
standing  on  top  of  a  bank  hanging  on  to  a  rope, 
on  the  other  end  of  which  the  colt  dangled  and 
danced,  while  Flurry,  with  the  other  rope,  lay 
prone  in  the  ditch,  and  Slipper  administered  to 
the  bewildered  colt's  hindquarters  such  chastise- 
ment as  could  be  ventured  on. 

I  have  no  space  to  narrate  in  detail  the  atrocious 
difficulties  and  disasters  of  the  short  cut.  How 
the  colt  set  to  work  to  buck,  and  went  away  across 
a  field,  dragging  the  faithful  Slipper,  literally  ventre- 
a-terre,  after  him,  while  I  picked  myself  in  ignominy 
out  of  a  briar  patch,  and  Flurry  cursed  himself 
black  in  the  face.  How  we  were  attacked  by 
ferocious  cur  dogs,  and  I  lost  my  eyeglass ;  and 
how,  as  we  neared  the  River's  Cross,  Flurry  espied 
the"  police  patrol  on  the  road,  and  we  all  hid 
behind  a  rick  of  turf,  while  I  realised  in  fulness 
what  an  exceptional  ass  I  was,  to  have  been  be- 
guiled into  an  enterprise  that  involved  hiding  with 
Slipper  from  the  Royal  Irish  Constabulary. 

Let  it  suffice  to  say  that  Trinket's  infernal 
offspring  was  finally  handed  over  on  the  high- 
road to  Michael  and  Slipper,  and  Flurry  drove 


64     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

me  home  in  a  state  of  mental  and  physical  over- 
throw. 

I  saw  nothing  of  my  friend  Mr.  Knox  for  the 
next  couple  of  days,  by  the  end  of  which  time  I 
had  worked  up  a  high  polish  on  my  misgivings, 
and  had  determined  to  tell  him  that  under  no 
circumstances  would  I  have  anything  to  say  to 
his  grandmother's  birthday  present.  It  was  like 
my  usual  luck  that,  instead  of  writing  a  note  to 
this  effect,  I  thought  it  would  be  good  for  my 
liver  to  walk  across  the  hills  to  Tory  Cottage  and 
tell  Flurry  so  in  person. 

It  was  a  bright,  blustery  morning,  after  a  muggy 
day.  The  feeling  of  spring  was  in  the  air,  the 
daffodils  were  already  in  bud,  and  crocuses  showed 
purple  in  the  grass  on  either  side  of  the  avenue. 
It  was  only  a  couple  of  miles  to  Tory  Cottage 
by  the  way  across  the  hills ;  I  walked  fast,  and 
it  was  barely  twelve  o'clock  when  I  saw  its  pink 
walls  and  clumps  of  evergreens  below  me.  As  I 
looked  down  at  it  the  chiming  of  Flurry's  hounds 
in  the  kennels  came  to  me  on  the  wind  ;  I  stood 
still  to  listen,  and  could  almost  have  sworn  that 
I  was  hearing  again  the  clash  of  Magdalen  bells, 
hard  at  work  on  May  morning. 

The  path  that  I  was  following  led  downwards 
through  a  larch  plantation  to  Flurry's  back  gate. 
Hot  wafts  from  some  hideous  caldron  at  the 
other  side  of  a  wall  apprised  me  of  the  vicinity 
of  the  kennels  and  their  cuisine,  and  the  fir-trees 
round  were  hung  with  gruesome  and  unknown 
joints.  I  thanked  Heaven  that  I  was  not  a  master 


Trinket's  Colt  65 

ot  hounds,  and  passed  on  as  quickly  as  might  be 
to  the  hall  door. 

!  rang  two  or  three  times  without  response  ;  then 
the  door  opened  a  couple  of  inches  and  was  in- 
stantly slammed  in  my  face.  I  heard  the  hurried 
paddling  of  bare  feet  on  oilcloth,  and  a  voice, 
"  Hurry,  Bridgie,  hurry !  There's  quality  at  the 
door!" 

Bridgie,  holding  a  dirty  cap  on  with  one  hand, 
presently  arrived  and  informed  me  that  she  be- 
lieved Mr.  Knox  was  out  about  the  place.  She 
seemed  perturbed,  and  she  cast  scared  glances 
down  the  drive  while  speaking  to  me. 

I  knew  enough  of  Flurry's  habits  to  shape  a 
tolerably  direct  course  for  his  whereabouts.  He 
was,  as  I  had  expected,  in  the  training  paddock, 
a  field  behind  the  stable-yard,  in  which  he  had 
put  up  practice  jumps  for  his  horses.  It  was  a 
good-sized  field  with  clumps  of  furze  in  it,  and 
Flurry  was  standing  near  one  of  these  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  singularly  unoccupied.  I 
supposed  that  he  was  prospecting  for  a  place  to 
put  up  another  jump.  He  did  not  see  me  coming, 
and  turned  with  a  start  as  I  spoke  to  him.  There 
was  a  queer  expression  of  mingled  guilt  and  what 
I  can  only  describe  as  divilment  in  his  grey  eyes 
as  he  greeted  me.  In  my  dealings  with  Flurry 
Knox,  I  have  since  formed  the  habit  of  sitting 
tight,  in  a  general  way,  when  I  see  that  ex- 
pression. 

"  Well,  who's  coming  next,  I  wonder  ! "  he  said, 
as  he  shook  hands  with  me  ;  "  it's  not  ten  minutes 

£ 


66     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

since  I  had  two  of  your  d — d  peelers  here 
searching  the  whole  place  for  my  grandmother's 
colt!" 

"  What ! "  I  exclaimed,  feeling  cold  all  down 
my  back ;  "  do  you  mean  the  police  have  got 
hold  of  it?" 

"They  haven't  got  hold  of  the  colt  anyway," 
said  Flurry,  looking  sideways  at  me  from  under 
the  peak  of  his  cap,  with  the  glint  of  the  sun 
in  his  eye.  "  I  got  *word  in  time  before  they 
came." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  demanded  ;  "  where 
is  he'?  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  tell  me  you've 
sent  the  brute  over  to  my  place ! " 

"  It's  a  good  job  for  you  I  didn't,"  replied  Flurry, 
"as  the  police  are  on  their  way  to  Shreelane  this 
minute  to  consult  you  about  it.  You  !  "  He  gave 
utterance  to  one  of  his  short  diabolical  fits  of 
laughter.  "  He's  where  they'll  not  find  him,  any- 
how. Ho  !  ho  !  It's  the  funniest  hand  I  ever 
played ! " 

"  Oh  yes,  it's  devilish  funny,  I've  no  doubt," 
I  retorted,  beginning  to  lose  my  temper,  as  is  the 
manner  of  many  people  when  they  are  frightened ; 
"  but  I  give  you  fair  warning  that  if  Mrs.  Knox 
asks  me  any  questions  about  it,  I  shall  tell  her 
the  whole  story." 

"All.  right,"  responded  Flurry;  "and  when  you 
do,  don't  forget  to  tell  her 'how  you  flogged  the 
colt  out  on  to  the  road  over  her  own  bounds 
ditch." - 

"  Very  well,"   I   said  hotly,   "  I  may  as  well  go 


Trinket's  Colt  67 

home  and  send  in  my  papers.  They'll  break  me 
over  this " 

"Ah,  hold  on,  Major,"  said  Flurry  soothingly, 
"  it'll  be  all  right.  No  one  knows  anything.  It's 
only  on  spec  the  old  lady  sent  the  bobbies  here. 
If  you'll  keep  quiet  it'll  all  blow  over." 

"I  don't  care,"  I  said,  struggling  hopelessly  in 
the  toils  ;  "  if  I  meet  your  grandmother,  and  she 
asks  me  about  it,  I  shall  tell  her  all  I  know." 

"  Please  God  you'll  not  meet  her !  After  all, 
it's  not  once  in  a  blue  moon  that  she — '""began 
Flurry.  Even  as  he  said  the  words  his  face 
changed.  "  Holy  fly  !  "  he  ejaculated,  "  isn't  that 
her  dog  coming  into  the  field  ?  Look  at  her 
bonnet  over  the  wall  1  Hide,  hide  for  your  life  ! " 
He  caught  me  by  the  shoulder  and  shoved  me 
down  among  the  furze  bushes  before  I  realised 
what  had  happened. 

"  Get  in  there !  I'll  talk  to  her." 

I  may  as  well  confess  that-  at  the  mere  sight 
of  Mrs.  Knox's  purple  bonnet  my  heart  had 
turned  to  water.  In  that  moment  I  knew  what 
it  would  be  like  to  tell  her  how  I,  having  eaten 
her  salmon,  and  capped  her  'quotations,  and  drunk 
her  best  port,  had  gone  forth  and  helped  to  steal 
her  horse.  I  abandoned  my  dignity,  my  sense- 
of  honour  ;  I  took  the  furze  prickles  to  my  breast 
and  wallowed  in  them. 

Mrs.  Knox  had  advanced  with  vengeful  speed  ; 
already  she  was  in  high  altercation  with  Flurry 
at  no  great  distance  from  where  I  lay  ;  varying 
sounds  of  battle  reached  me,  and  I  gathered 


68     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

that  Flurry  was  not — to  put  it  mildly — shrinking 
from  that  economy  of  truth  that  the  situation 
required. 

"Js  it  that  curby,  long- backed  brute  ?  You 
promised  him  to  me  long  ago,  but  I  wouldn't 
be  bothered  with  him  !  " 

The  old  lady  uttered  a  laugh  of  shrill  derision. 
"  Is  it  likely  I'd  promise  you  my  best  colt  ?  And 
still  more,  is  it  likely  that  you'd  refuse  him  if 
I  did?" 

"  Very  well,  ma'am."  Flurry's  voice  was  admir- 
ably indignant.  "Then  I  suppose  I'm  a  liar  and 
a  thief." 

"I'd  be  more  obliged  to  you  for  the  informa- 
tion if  I  hadn't  known  it  before,"  responded  his 
grandmother  with  lightning  speed  ;  "  if  you  swore 
to  me  on  a  stack  of  Bibles  you  knew  nothing 
about  my  colt  I  wouldn't  believe  you  1  I  shall 
go  straight  to  Major  Yeates  and  ask  his  advice. 
I  believe  him  to  be  a  gentleman,  in  spite  of  the 
company  he  keeps  1 " 

I  writhed  deeper  into  the  furze  bushes,  and 
thereby  discovered  a  sandy  rabbit  run,  along' which 
I  crawled,  with  my  cap  well  over  my  eyes,  and 
the  furze  needles  stabbing  me  through  my  stock- 
ings. The  ground  shelved  a  little,  promising  pro- 
founder  concealment,  but  the  bushes  were  very 
thick,  and  I  laid  hold  of  the  bare  stem  of  one 
to  help  my  progress.  It  lifted  out  of  the  ground 
in  my  hand,  revealing  a  freshly-cut  stump.  Some- 
thing snorted,  not  a  yard  away ;  I  glared  through 
the  opening,  and  was  confronted  by  the  long, 


Trinket's  Colt  69 

horrified  face  of  Mrs.  Knox's  colt,  mysteriously 
on  a  level  with  my  own. 

Even  without  the  white  diamond  on  his  fore- 
head I  should  have  divined  the  truth  ;  but  how 
in  the  name  ot  wonder  had  Flurry  persuaded 
him  to  couch  like  a  woodcock  in  the  heart  of  a 
furze  brake  ?  For  a  full  minute  I  lay  as  still 
as  death  for  fear  of  frightening  him,  while  the 
voices  of  Flurry  and  his  grandmother  raged  on 
alarmingly  close  to  me.  The  colt  snorted,  and 
blew  long  breaths  through  his  wide  nostrils, 
but  he  did  not  move.  I  crawled  an  inch  or  two 
nearer,  and  after  a  few  seconds  of  cautious 
peering  I  grasped  the  position.  They  had  buried 
him. 

A  small  sandpit  among  the  furze  had  been 
utilised  as  a  grave  ;  they  had  filled  him  in 
up  to  his  withers  with  sand,  and  a  few  furze 
bushes,  artistically  disposed  round  the  pit,  had 
done  the  rest.  As  the  depth  of  Flurry's  guile 
was  revealed,  laughter  came  upon  me  like  a 
flood ;  I  gurgled  and  shook  apoplectically,  and 
the  colt  gazed  at  me  with  serious  surprise,  until 
a  sudden  outburst  of  barking  close  to  my  elbow 
administered  a  fresh  shock  to  my  tottering  nerves. 

Mrs.  Knox's  woolly  dog  had  tracked  me  into 
the  furze,  and  was  now  baying  the  colt  and  me 
with  mingled  terror  and  indignation.  I  addressed 
him  in  a  whisper,  with  perfidious  endearments, 
advancing  a  crafty  hand  towards  him  the  while, 
made  a  snatch  for  the  back  of  his  neck,  missed 
it  badly,  and  got  him  by  the  ragged  fleece  of  his 


yo     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

hind-quarters  as  he  tried  to  flee.     If  I  had  flayed 
him   alive   he  could   hardly  have  uttered   a   more 


&$&$ 


I  ADVANCED   A  CRAFTY  HAND 


deafening  series  of  yells,  but,  like  a  fool,  instead 
of  letting  him  go,  I  dragged  him  towards  me,  and 
tried  to  stifle  the  noise  by  holding  his  muzzle. 


Trinket's  Colt  71 

The  tussle  lasted  engrossingly  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  the  climax  of  the  nightmare  arrived. 

Mrs.  Knox's  voice,  close  behind  me,  said,  "  Let 
go  my  dog  this  instant,  sir  !  Who  are  you " 

Her  voice  faded  away,  and  I  knew  that  she 
also  had  seen  the  colt's  head. 

I  positively  felt  sorry  for  her.  At  her  age  there 
was  no  knowing  what  effect  the  shock  might  have 
on  her.  I  scrambled  to  my  feet  and  confronted 
her. 

"  Major  Yeates  !  "•  she  said.  There  was  a  deathly 
pause,  "Will  you  kindly  tell  me,"  said  Mrs.  Knox 
slowly,  "  am  I  in  Bedlam,  or  are  you  ?  And  what 
is  that?" 

She  pointed  to  the  colt,  and  that  unfortunate 
animal,  recognising  the  voice  of  his  mistress, 
uttered  a  hoarse  and  lamentable  whinny.  Mrs. 
Knox  felt  around  her  for  support,  found  only 
furze  prickles,  gazed  speechlessly  at  me,  and  then, 
to  her  eternal  honour,  fell  into  wild  cackles  of 
laughter. 

So,  I  may  say,  did  Flurry  and  I.  I  embarked 
on  my  explanation  and  broke  down ;  Flurry 
followed  suit  and  broke  down  too.  Overwhelming 
laughter  held  us  all  three,  disintegrating  our  very 
souls.  Mrs.  Knox  pulled  herself  together  first. 

"  I  acquit  you,  Major  Yeates,  I  acquit  you, 
though  appearances  are  against  you.  It's  clear 
enough  to  me  you've  fallen  among  thieves."  She 
stopped  and  glowered  at  Flurry.  .  Her  purple 
bonnet  was  over  one  eye.  "  I'll  thank  you,  sir," 
she  said,  "to  dig  out  that  horse  before  I  leave 


72     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

this  place.  And  when  you've  dug  him  out  you 
may  keep  him.  I'll  be  no  receiver  of  stolen 
goods ! " 

She  broke  off  and  shook  her  fist  at  him.  "Up°n 
my  conscience,  Tony,  I'd  give  a  guinea  to  have 
thought  of  it  myself  i " 


n/ 

THE  WATERS  OF   STRIFE 

I  KNEW  Bat  Callaghan's  face  long  before  I  was 
able  to  put  a  name  to  it.  There  was  seldom 
a  court  day  in  Skebawn  that  I  was  not  aware  of 
his  level  brows  and  superfluously  intense  expres- 
sion somewhere  among  the  knot  of  corner-boys 
who  patronised  the  weekly  sittings  of  the  bench 
of  magistrates.  His  social  position  appeared  to 
fluctuate :  I  have  seen  him  driving  a  car ;  he 
sometimes  held  my  horse  for  me — that  is  to  say, 
he  sat  on  the  counter  of  a  public-house  while  the 
Quaker  slumbered  in  the  gutter ;  and,  on  one 
occasion,  he  retired,  at  my  bidding,  to  Cork  gaol, 
there  to  meditate  upon  the  inadvisability  of  defend- 
ing a  friend  from  the  attentions  of  the  police  with 
the  tailboard  of  a  cart. 

He  next  obtained  prominence  in  my  regard  at 
a  regatta  held  under  the  auspices  of  "The  Sons 
of  Liberty,"  a  local  football  club  that  justified  its 
title  by  the  patriot  green  of  its  jerseys  and  its 
free  interpretation  of  the  rules  of  the  garQe.  The 
announcement  of  my  name  on  the  posters  as  a 
patron — a  privilege  acquired  at  the  cost  of  a  re- 
luctant half-sovereign — made  it  incumbent  on  me 


73 


74     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

to  put  in  an  appearance,  even  though  the  festival 
coincided  with  my  Petty  Sessions  day  at  Skebawn  ; 
and  at  some  five  of  the  clock  on  a  brilliant 
September  afternoon  I  found  myself  driving  down 
the  stony  road  that  dropped  in  zigzags  to  the 
borders  of  the  lake  on  which  the  races  were  to 
come  off. 

I  believe  that  the  selection  of  Lough  Lonen  as 
the  scene  of  the  regatta  was  not  unconnected  with 
the  fact  that  the  secretary  of  the  club  owned  a 
public-house  at  the  cross  roads  at  one  end  of  it  ; 
none  the  less,  the  president  of  the  Royal  Academy 
could  scarcely  have  chosen  more  picturesque  sur- 
roundings. A  mountain  towered  steeply  up  from 
the  lake's  edge,  dark  with  the  sad  green  of  beech- 
trees  in  September  ;  fir  woods  followed  the  curve 
of  the  shore/  and  leaned  far  over  the  answering 
darkness  of  the  water  ;  and  above  the  trees  rose 
the  toppling  steepnesses  of  the  hill,  painted  with 
a  purple  glow  of  heather.  The  lake  was  about  a 
mile  long,  and,  tumbling  from  its  farther  end,  a 
fierce  and  narrow  river  fled  away  west  to  the  sea, 
some  four  or  five  miles  off. 

I  had  not  seen  a  boat  race  since  I  was  at  Oxford, 
and  the  words  still  called  up  before  my  eyes  a 
vision  of  smart  parasols,  'of  gorgeous  barges,  of 
snowy-clad  youths,  and  of  low  slim  outriggers, 
winged  with  the  level  flight  of  oars,  slitting  the 
water  to  the  sway  of  the  line  of  flat  backs.  Cer- 
tainly undreamed-of  possibilities  in  aquatics  were 
revealed  to  me  as  I  reined  in  the  Quaker  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  crowd,  and  saw  below  me  the 


The  Waters  of  Strife  75 

festival  of  the  Sons  of  Liberty  in  full  swing.  Boats 
of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  outrageously  overladen, 
moved  about  the  lake,  with  oars  flourishing  to  the 
strains  of  concertinas.  Black  swarms  of  people 
seethed  along  the  water's  edge,  congesting  here 
and  there  round  the  dingy  tents  and  stalls  of  green 
apples  ;  and  the  club's  celebrated  brass  band,  en- 
throned in  a  wagonette,  arid  stimulated  by  the 
presence  of  a 
barrel  of  porter 
on  the  box-seat, 
was  belching 
forth  "The  Boys 
of  Wexford," 
under  the  guid- 
ance  of  a  disre- 
putable  ex-militia 
drummer,  in  a 
series  of  crashing 
discords. 

Almost  as  I 
arrived  a  pistol- 
shot  set  the 
echoes  clattering 
round  the  lake, 

and  three  boats  burst  out  abreast  from  the  throng 
into  the  open  water.  Two  of  the  crews  were 
in  shirt-sleeves,  the  third  wore  the  green  jerseys 
of  the  football  club  ;  the  boats  were  of  the  heavy 
sea-going  build,  and  pulled  six  oars  apiece,  oars 
of  which  the  looms  were  scarcely  narrower 
than  the  blades,  and  were,  of  the  two,  but  a 


THE  BANDMASTER  OF  "THE  SONS 
OF  LIBERTY" 


7 6     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

shade  heavier.  None  the  less  the  rowers  started 
dauntlessly  at  thirty-five  strokes  a  minute,  quicken- 
ing up,  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  as  they 
rounded  the  mark  boat  in  the  first  lap  of  the 
two-mile  course.  The  rowing  was,  in  general 
style,  more  akin  to  the  action  of  beating  up  eggs 
with  a  fork  than  to  any  other  form  of  athletic 
exercise  :  but  in  its  unorthodox  way  it  kicked  the 
heavy  boats  along  at  a  surprising  pace.  The  oars 
squeaked  and  grunted  against  the  thole-pins,  the 
coxswains  kept  up  an  unceasing  flow  of  oratory, 
and  superfluous  little  boys  in  punts  contrived  to 
intervene  at  all  the  more  critical  turning-points  of 
the  race,  only  evading  the  flail  of  the  oncoming 
oars  by  performing  prodigies  of  "waggling"  with 
a  single  oar  at  the  stern.  I  took  out  my  watch 
and  counted  the  strokes  when  they  were  passing 
the  mark  boat  for  the  second  time  ;  they  were 
pulling  a  fraction  over  forty  ;  one  of  the  shirt- 
sleeved  crews  was  obviously  in  trouble,  the  other, 
with  humped  backs  and  jerking  oars,  was  holding 
its  own  against  the  green  jerseys  amid  the  blended 
yells  of  friends  and  foes.  When  for  the  last  time 
they  rounded  the  green  flag  there  were  but  two 
boats  in  the  race,  and  the  foul  that  had  been 
imminent  throughout  was  at  length  achieved  with 
a  rattle  of  oars  and  a  storm  of  curses.  They  were 
clear  again  in  a  moment,  the  shirt-sleeved  crew 
getting  away  with  a  distinct  lead,  and  it  was  at 
about  this  juncture  that  I  became  aware  that  the 
coxswains  had  abandoned  their  long-handled  tillers, 
and  were  standing  over  their  respective  "strokes," 


*     The  Waters  of  Strife  77 

shoving  frantically  at  their  oars,  and  maintaining 
the  while  a  ceaseless  bawl  of  encouragement  and 
defiance.  It  looked  like  a  foregone  conclusion 
for  the  leaders,  and  the  war  of  cheers  rose  to 
frenzy.  The  word  "cheering,"  indeed,  is  but  an 
euphuism,  and  in  no  way  expresses  the  serrated 
yell,  composed  of  epithets,  advice,  and  impre- 
cations, that  was  flung  like  a  live  thing  at  the 
oncoming  boats.  The  green  jerseys  answered  to 
this  stimulant  with  a  wild  spurt  that  drove  the 
bow  of  their  boat  within  a  measurable  distance  of 
their  opponents'  stroke  oar.  In  another  second 
a  thoroughly  successful  foul  would  have  been 
effected,  but  the  cox  of  the  leading  boat  proved 
himself  equal  to  the  emergency  by  unshipping 
his  tiller,  and  with  it  dealing  "  bow "  of  the  green 
jerseys  such  a  blow  over  the  head  as  effectually  dis- 
missed him  from  the  sphere  of  practical  politics. 

A  great  roar  of  laughter  greeted  this  feat  of 
arms,  and  a  voice  at  my  dogcart's  wheel  pierced 
the  clamour — 

"  More  power  to  ye,  Larry,  me  owld  darlin'  ! " 
I  looked  down  and  saw  Bat  Callaghan,  with 
shining  eyes,  and  a  face  white  with  excitement, 
poising  himself  on  one  foot  on  the  box  of  my 
wheel  in  order  to  get  a  better  view  of  the  race. 
Almost  before  I  had  time  to  recognise  him,  a  man 
in  a  green  jersey  caught  him  round  the  legs  and 
jerked  him  down.  Callaghan  fell  into  the  throng, 
recovered  himself  in  an  instant,  and  rushed,  white 
and  dangerous,  at  his  assailant.  The  Son  of  Liberty 
was  no  less  ready  for  the  fray,  and  what  is  known 


78     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

in  Ireland  as 
"the  father  and 
mother  of  a 
row"  was  im- 
minent. Al- 
ready, however, 
one  of  those  un- 
equalled judges 
of  the  moral 
temperature  of 
a  crowd,  a  ser- 
geant of  the 
R.I.C.,  had 
quietly  inter- 
posed his  bulky 
person  between 
the  comba- 
tants, and  the 
coming  trouble 
was  averted. 

Elsewhere 
battle  was  rag- 
ing. The  race 
was  over,  and 
the  commit- 
tee boat  was 
hemmed  in  by 
the  rival  crews, 
supplemented 
by  craft  of  all 
kinds.  The  "ob- 
jection "  was 

*"MORE  POWER  TO  YE,  LARRY,  ME  OWLD  0ARLIN'  ! "  being       lodged, 


The  Waters  of  Strife  79 

and  in  its  turn  objected  to,  and  I  can  only  liken 
the  process  to  the  screaming  warfare  of  seagulls 
round  a  piece  of  carrion.  The  tumult  was  still 
at  its  height  when  out  of  its  very  heart  two  four- 
oared  boats  broke  forth,  and  a  pistol  shot  pro- 
claimed that  another  race  had  begun,  the  public 
interest  in  which  was  specially  keen,  owing  to  the 
fact  that  the  rowers  were  stalwart  country  girls, 
who  made  up  in  energy  what  they  lacked  in 
skill.  It  was  a  short  race,  once  round  the  mark 
boat  only,  and,  like  a  successful  farce,  it  "went 
with  a  roar  "  from  start  to  finish.  Foul  after  foul, 
each  followed  by  a  healing  interval  of  calm, 
during  which  the  crews,  who  had  all  caught  crabs, 
were  recovering  themselves  and  their  oars,  marked 
its  progress ;  and  when  the  two  boats,  locked 
in  an  inextricable  embrace,  at  length  passed  the 
winning  flag,  and  the  crews,  oblivious  of  judges 
and  public,  fell  to  untrammelled  personal  abuse 
and  to  doing  up  their  hair,  I  decided  that  I 
had  seen  the  best  of  the  fun,  and  prepared  to 
go  home. 

It  was,  as  it  ^happened,  the  last  race  of  the  day, 
and  nothing  remained  in  the  way  of  excitement 
save  the  greased  pole  with  the  pig  slung  in  a  bag 
at  the  end  of  it.  My  final  impression  of  the  Lough 
Lonen  Regatta  was  of  Callaghan's  lithe  figure, 
sleek  and  dripping,  against  the  yellow  sky,  as  he 
poised  on  the  swaying  pole  with  the  broken  gold 
of  the  water  beneath  him. 

Limited  as  was  my  experience  of  the  South-west 
of  Ireland,  I  was  in  no  way  surprised  to  hear  on 


8o     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

the  following  afternoon  from  Peter  Cadogan  that 
there  had  been  "sthrokes"  the  night  before,  when 
the  boys  were  going  home  from  the  regatta,  and 
that  the  police  were  searching  for  one  Jimmy 
Foley. 

"What  do  they  want  him  for  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Sure  it's  according  as  a  man  that  was  bringing 
a  car  of  bogwood  was  tellin'  me,  sir,"  answered 
Peter,  pursuing  his  occupation  of  washing  the 
dogcart  with  unabated  industry  ;  "  they  say  Jimmy's 
wife  went  roaring  to  the  police,  saying  she  could 
get  no  account  of  her  husband." 

"I  suppose  he's  beaten  some  fellow  and  is 
hiding,"  I  suggested. 

"  Well,  that  might  be,  sir,"  asserted  Peter  respect- 
fully. He  plied  his  mop  vigorously  in  intricate 
places  about  the  springs,  which  would,  I  knew,  have 
never  been  explored  save  for  my  presence. 

"  It's  what  John  Hennessy  was  saying,  that  he 
was  hard  set  to  get  his  horse  past  Cluin  Cross,  the 
way  the  blood  was  sthrewn  about  the  road,"  re- 
sumed Peter ;  "  sure  they  were  fighting  like  wasps 
in  it  half  the  night." 

" Who  were  fighting?" 

"  I  couldn't  say,  indeed,  sir.  Some  o'  thim  low 
rakish  lads  from  the  town,  I  suppose,"  replied  Peter 
with  virtuous  respectability. 

When  Peter  Cadogan  was  quietly  and  intel- 
ligently candid,  to  pursue  an  inquiry  was  seldom 
of  much  avail. 

Next  day  in  Skebawn  I  met  little  Murray,  the 
district  inspector,  very  alert  and  smart  in  his  rifle- 


The  Waters  of  Strife  8 1 

green  uniform,  going  forth  to  collect  evidence 
about  the  fight.  He  told  me  that  the  police  were 
pretty  certain  that  one  of  the  Sons  of  Liberty, 
named  Foley,  had  been  murdered,  but,  as  usual, 
the  difficulty  was  to  get  any  one  to  give  informa- 
tion ;  all  that  was  known  was  that  he  was  gone, 
and  that  his  wife  had  identified  his  cap,  which  had 
been  found,  drenched  with  blood,  by  the  roadside. 
Murray  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  whole  busi- 
ness had  arisen  out  of  the  row  over  the  disputed 
race,  and  that  there  must  have  been  a  dozen  people 
looking  on  when  the  murder  was  done  ;  but  so  far 
no  evidence  was  forthcoming,  and  after  a  day  and 
a  night  ol  search  the  police  had  not  been  able  to 
find  the  body. 

"  No,"  said  Flurry  Knox,  who  had  joined  us, 
"and  if  it  was  any  of  those  mountainy  men  did 
away  with  him  you  might  scrape  Ireland  with  a 
small-tooth  comb  and  you'll  not  get  him  1 " 

That  evening  I  smoked  an  after-dinner  cigarette 
out  of  doors  in  the  mild  starlight,  strolling  about 
the  rudimentary  paths  of  what  would,  I  hoped, 
some  day  be  Phjlippa's  garden.  The  bats  came 
stooping  at  the  red  end  of  my  cigarette,  and  from 
the  covert  behind  the  house  I  heard  once  or  twice 
the  delicate  bark  of  a  fox.  Civilisation  seemed  a 
thousand  miles  off,  as  far  away  as  the  falling  star 
that  had  just  drawn  a  line  of  pale  fire  half-way 
down  the  northern  sky.  I  had  been  nearly  a 
year  at  Shreelane  House  by  myself  now,  and  the 
time  seemed  very  long  to  me.  It  was  slow  work 
putting  by  money,  even  under  the  austerities  of 

F 


82     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Mrs-.  Cadogan's  regime,  and  though  I  had  warned 
Philippa  I  meant  to  marry  her  after  Christmas, 
there  were  moments,  and  this  was  one  of  them, 
when  it  seemed  an  idle  threat. 

"  Pether  1 "  the  strident  voice  of  Mrs.  Cadogan 
intruded  upon  my  meditations.  "  Go  tell  the 
Major  his  coffee  is  waitin'  on  him ! " 

I  went  gloomily  into  the  house,  and,  with  a  re- 
signation born  of  adversity,  swallowed  the  mixture 
of  chicory  and  liquorice  which  my  housekeeper 
possessed  the  secret  of  distilling  from  the  best 
and  most  expensive  coffee.  My  theory  about  it 
was  that  it  added  to  the  illusion  that  I  had  dined, 
and  moreover,  that  it  kept  me  awake,  and  I  gene- 
rally had  a  good  deal  of  writing  to  do  after  dinner. 

Having  swallowed  it  I  went  downstairs  and  out 
past  the  kitchen  regions  to  my  office,  a  hideous 
whitewashed  room,  in  which  I  interviewed  police- 
men, and  took  affidavits,  and  did  most  of  my 
official  writing.  It  had  a  door  that  opened  into 
the  yard,  and  a  window  that  looked  out  in  the 
other  direction,  among  lanky  laurels  and  scrubby 
hollies,  where  lay  the  cats'  main  thoroughfare 
from  the  scullery  window  to  the  rabbit  holes 
in  the  wood.  I  had  a  good  deal  of  work  to  do, 
and  the  time  passed  quickly.  It  was  Friday  night, 
and  from  the  kitchen  at  the  end  of  the  passage 
came  the  gabbling  murmur,  in  two  alternate  keys, 
that  I  had  learned  to  recognise  as  the  recital  of  a 
litany  by  my  housekeeper  and  her  nephew  Peter. 
This  performance  was  followed  by  some  of  those 
dreary  and  heart-rending  yawns  that  are,  I  think, 


The  Waters  of  Strife  83 

peculiar  to  Irish  kitchens,  then  such  of  the  cats 
as  had  returned  from  the  chase  were  loudly  shep- 
herded into  the  back  scullery,  the  kitchen  door 
shut  with  a  ,slam,  and  my  retainers  .retired  to 
repose. 

It  was  nearly  half-an-hour  afterwards  when  I 
finished  the  notes  I  had  been  making  on  an 
adjourned  case  of  "  stroke-hauling "  salmon  in  the 
Lonen  River.  I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  and 
lighted  a  cigarette  preparatory  to  turning  in  ;  my 
thoughts  had  again  wandered'  on  a  sentimental 
journey  across  the  Irish  Channel,  when  I  heard  a 
slight  stir  of  some  kind  outside  the  open  window. 
In  the  wilds  of  Ireland  no  one  troubles  themselves 
about  burglars  ;  "  more  cats,"  I  thought,  "  I  must 
shut  the  window  before  I  go  to  bed." 

Almost  immediately  there  followed  a  faint  tap 
on  the  window,  and  then  a  voice  said  in  a  hoarse 
and  hurried  whisper,  "  Them  that  wants  Jim  Foley, 
let  them  look  in  the  river !  " 

If  I  had  kept  my  head  I  should  have  sat  still  and 
encouraged  a  further  confidence,  but  unfortunately 
I  acted  on  the  impulse  of  the  natural  man,  and 
was  at  the  window  in  a  jump,  knocking  down  my 
chair,  and  making  noise  enough  to  scare  a  far 
less  shy  bird  than  an  Irish  informer.  Of  course 
there  was  no  one  there.  I  listened,  with  every 
nerve  as  taut  as  a  violin  string.  It  was  quite  dark  ; 
there  was  just  breeze  enough  to  make  a  rustling 
in  the  evergreens,  sos  that  a  man  might  brush 
through  them  without  being  heard  ;  and  while  I 
debated  on  a  plan  of  action  there  came  from 


84     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

beyond  the  shrubbery  the  jar  and  twang  of  a 
loose  strand  of  wire  in  the  paling  by  the  wood. 
My  informant,  whoever  he  might  be,  had  vanished 
into  the  darkness  from  which  he  had  come  as 
irrecoverably  as  had  the  falling  star  that  had 
written  its  brief  message  across  the  sky,  and  gone 
out  again  into  infinity. 

I  got  up  very  early  next  morning  and  drove 
to  Skebawn  to  see  Murray,  and  offer  him  my 
mysterious  information  for  what  it  was  worth. 
Personally  I  did  not  think  it  worth  much,  and  was 
disposed  to  regard  it  as  a  red  herring  drawn  across 
the  trail.  Murray,  however,  was  not  in  a  mood 
to  despise  anything  that  had  a  suggestion  to  make, 
having  been  out  till  nine  o'clock  the  night  before 
without  being  able  to  find  any  clue  to  the  hiding- 
place  of  James  Foley. 

"The  river's  a  good  mile  from  the  place  where 
the  fight  was,"  he  said,  straddling  his  compasses 
over  the  Ordnance  Survey  map,  "and  there's  no 
sort  of  a  road  they  could  have  taken  him  along, 
but  a  tip  like  this  is  always  worth  trying.  I  re- 
member in  the  Land  League  time  how  a  man 
came  one  Saturday  night  to  my  window  and  told 
me  there  were  holes  drilled  in  the  chapel  door 
to  shoot  a  boycotted  man  through  while  he  was 
at  mass.  The  holes  were  there  right  enough,  and 
you  may  be  quite  sure  that  chap  found  excellent 
reasons  .for  having  family  prayers  at  home  next 
day ! " 

I  had  sessions  to  attend  on  the  extreme  out- 
skirts of  my  district,  and  could  not  wait,  as  Murray 


The  Waters  of  Strife  85 

suggested,  to  see  the  thing  out.  I  did  not  get 
home  till  the  following  day,  and  when  I  arrived 
I  found  a  letter  from  Murray  awaiting  me. 

"Your  pal  was  right.  We  found  Foley's  body 
in  the  river,  knocking  about  against  the  posts  of 
the  weir.  The  head  was  wrapped  in  his  own 
green  jersey,  and  had  been  smashed  in  by  a  stone. 
We  suspect  a  fellow  named  Bat  Callaghan,  who 
has  bolted,  but  there  were  a  lot  of  them  in  it. 
Possibly  it  was  Callaghan  himself  who  gave  you 
the  tip  ;  you  never  can  tell  how  superstition  is 
going  to  take  them  next.  The  inquest  will  be 
held  to-morrow." 

The  coroner's  jury  took  a  cautious  view  of  the 
cause  of  the  catastrophe,  and  brought  in  a  verdict  of 
"death  by  misadventure,"  and  I  presently  found  it 
to  be  my  duty  to  call  a  magisterial  inquiry  to  further 
investigate  the  matter.  A  few  days  before  this 
was  to  take  place,  I  was  engaged  in  the  delicate 
task  of  displaying  to  my  landlord,  Mr.  Flurry 
Knox,  the  defects  of  the  pantry  sink,  when  Mrs. 
Cadogan  advanced  upon  us  with  the  information 
that .  the  Widow  Callaghan  from  Cluin  would  be 
thankful  to  speak  to  me,  and  had  brought  me 
a  present  of  "a  fine  young  goose." 

"Is  she  come  over  here  looking  for  Bat?"  said 
Flurry,  withdrawing  his  arm  and  the  longest  kitchen- 
ladle  from  the  pipe  that  he  had  been  probing ;  "  she 
knows  you're  handy  at  hiding  your  friends,  Mary ; 
maybe  it's  he  that's  stopping  the  drain  ! " 

Mrs.  Cadogan  turned  her  large  red  face  upon 
her  late  employer. 


86     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  God  knows  I  wish  yerself  was  stuck  in  it,  Master 
Flurry,  the  way  ye'd  hear  Pether  cursin'  the  full 
o'  the  house  when  he's  striving  to  wash  the  things 
in  that  unnatural  little  trough." 

"Are  you  sure  it's  Peter  does  all  the  cursing?"  re- 
torted Flurry.  "I  hear  Father  Scanlan  has  it  in  for 
you  this  long  time  for  not  going  to  confession." 

"And  how  can  I  walk  two  miles  to  the  chapel 
with  God's  burden  on  me  feet?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Cadogan  in  purple  indignation  ;  "  the  Blessed 
Virgin  and  Docthor  Hickey  knows  well  the  hard- 
ship -I  gets  from  them.  If  it  wasn't  for  a  pair  of 
the  Major's  boots  he  gave  me,  I'd  be  hard  set 
to  thravel  the  house  itself ! " 

The  contest  might  have  been  continued  indefi- 
nitely, had  I  not  struck  up  the  swords  with  a 
request  that  Mrs.  Callaghan  might  be  sent  round 
to  the  hall  door.  There  we  found  a  tall,  grey- 
haired  countrywoman  waiting  for  us  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps,  in  the  hooded  blue  cloak  that  is 
peculiar  to  the  south  of  Ireland  ;  from  the  fact 
that  she  clutched  a  pocket-handkerchief  in  her 
right  hand  I  augured  a  stormy  interview,  but 
nothing  could  have  been  more  self -restrained  and 
even  imposing  than  the  reverence  with  which  she 
greeted  Flurry  and  me. 

"Good-morning  to  your  honours,"  she  began, 
with  a  dignified  and  extremely  imminent  snuffle. 
"  I  ask  your  pardon  for  troubling  you,  Major 
Yeates,  but  I  haven't  a  one  in  the  counthry  to 
give  me  an  adwice,  and  I  have  no  confidence  only 
in  your  honour's  experiments." 


The  Waters  of  Strife  87 

"  Experience,  she  means,"  prompted  Flurry. 
"  Didn't  you  get  advice  enough  out  of  Mr.  Murray 
yesterday?"  he  went  on  aloud.  "I  heard  he  was 
at  Cluin  to  see  you." 

"And  if  he  was  itself,  it's  little  adwantage  any 
one'd  get  out  of  that  little  whipper-shnapper  of 
a  shnap  -  dhragon  I "  responded  Mrs.  Callaghan 
tartly ;  "  he  was  with  me  for  a  half-hour  giving 
me  every  big  rock  of  English  till  I  had  a  reel  in 
me  head.  I  declare  to  ye,  Mr.  Flurry,  after  he 
had  gone  out  o'  the  house,  ye  wouldn't  throw  three 
farthings  for  me ! " 

The  pocket-handkerchief  was  here  utilised,  after 
which,  with  a  heavy  groan,  Mrs.  Callaghan  again 
took  up  her  parable. 

"  I  towid  him  first  and  last  I'd  lose  me  life  if 
I  had  to  go  into  the  coort,  and  if  I  did  itself  sure 
th'  attorneys  could  rip  no  more  out  o'  me  than 
what  he  did  himself." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  where  was  Bat  ? "  inquired 
Flurry  casually. 

At  this  Mrs.  Callaghan  immediately  dissolved 
into  tears. 

"Is  it  Bat?"  she  howled.  "If  the  twelve 
Apostles  came  down  from  heaven  asking  me 
where  was  Bat,  I  could  give  them  no  satisfaction. 
The  divil  a  know  I  know  what's  happened  him. 
He  came  home  with  me  sober  and  good-natured 
from  the  rogatta,  and  the  next  morning  he  axed 
a  fresh  egg  for  his  breakfast,  and  God  forgive  me, 
I  wouldn't  break  the  score  I  was  taking  to  the 
hotel,  and  with  that  he  slapped  the  cup  o'  tay  into 


88     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

the  fire  and  went  out  the  door,  and  I  never  got  a 
word  of  him  since,  good  nor  bad.  God  knows 
'tis  I  got  throuble  with  that  poor  boy,  and  he 
the  only  one  I  have  to  look  to  in  the  world  1 " 

I  cut  the  matter  short  by  asking  her  what  she 
wanted  me  to  do  for  her,  and  sifted  out  from 
amongst  much  extraneous  detail  the  fact  that  she 
relied  upon  my  renowned  wisdom  and  clemency 
to  preserve  her  from  being  called  as  a  witness  at 
the  coming  inquiry.  The  gift  of  the  goose  served 
its  intended  purpose  of  embarrassing  my  position, 
but  in  spite  of  it  I  broke  to  the  Widow  Callaghan 
my  inability  to  help  her.  She  did  not,  of  course, 
believe  me,  but  she  was  too  well-bred  to  say 
so.  In  Ireland  one  becomes  accustomed  to  this 
attitude. 

As  it  turned  out,  however,  Bat  Callaghan 's 
mother  had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  inquiry. 
She  was  by  turns  deaf,  imbecile,  garrulously 
candid,  and  furiously  abusive  of  Murray's  principal 
witness,  a  frightened  lad  of  seventeen,  who  had 
sworn  to  having  seen  Bat  Callaghan  and  Jimmy 
Foley  "  shaping  at  one  another  to  fight,"  at  an 
hour  when,  according  to  Mrs.  Callaghan,  Bat 
was  "  lying  sthretched  on  the  beddeen  with  a 
sick  shtomach  "  in  consequence  of  the  malignant 
character  of  the  porter  supplied  by  the  last 
witness's  father.  It  all  ended,  as  such  cases  so 
often  do  in  Ireland,  in  complete  moral  certainty 
in  the  minds  of  all  concerned  as  to  the  guilt  of 
the  accused,  and  entire  impotence  on  the  part 
of  the  law  to  prove  it.  A  warrant  was  issued 


The  Waters  of  Strife  89 

for  the  arrest  of  Bartholomew  Callaghan  ;  and 
the  clans  of  Callaghan  and  Foley  fought  rather 
more  bloodily  than  usual,  as  occasion  served ; 
and  at  intervals  during  the  next  few  months 
Murray  used  to  ask  me  if  my  friend  the  murderer 
had  dropped  in  lately,  to  which  I  was  wont  to 
reply  with  condolences  on  the  failure  of  the  R.I.C. 
to  find  the  Widow  Callaghan's  only  son  for  her  ; 
and  that  was  about  all  that  came  of  it. 

Events  with  which  the  present  story  has  no 
concern  took  me  to  England  towards  the  end  of 
the  following  March.  It  so  happened  that  my 

old  regiment,  the  th  Fusiliers,  was  quartered 

at  Whincastle,  within  a  couple  of  hours  by  rail  of 
Philippa'-s  home,  where  I  -was  staying,  and,  since 
my  wedding  was  now  within  measurable  distance, 
my  former  brothers-in-arms  invited  me  over  to 
dine  and  sleep,  and  to  receive  a  valedictory  silver 
claret  jug  that  they  were  magnanimous  enough  to 
bestow  upon  a  backslider.  I  enjoyed  the  dinner 
as  much  as  any  man  can  enjoy  his  dinner  when  he 
knows  he  has  to  make  a  speech  at  the  end  of  it ; 
through  much  and  varied  conversation  I  strove, 
like  a  nervous  mother  who  cannot  trust  her  off- 
spring out  of  her  sight,  to  keep  before  my  mind's 
eye  the  opening  sentences  that  I  had  composed  in 
the  train  ;  I  felt  that  if  I  could  only  "getaway" 
satisfactorily  I  might  trust  the  Ayala  ('89)  to  do 
the  rest,  and  of  that  fount  of  inspiration  there  was 
no  lack.  As  it  turned  out,  I  got  away  all  right, 
though  the  sight  of  the  double  line  of  expectant 
faces  and  red  mess  jackets  nearly  scattered  those 


90     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

precious  opening  sentences,  and  I  am  afraid  that 
so  far  as  the  various  subsequent  points  went  that 
I  had  intended  to  make,  I  stayed  away  ;  however, 
neither  Demosthenes,  nor  a  Nationalist  member 
at,,  a  Cork  election,  could  have  been  listened  to 
with  more  gratifying  attention,  and  I  sat  down,  hot 
and  happy,  to  be  confronted  with  my  own  flushed 
visage,  hideously  reflected  in  the  glittering  paunch 
of  the  claret  jug. 

Once  safely  over  the  presentation,  the  evening 
mellowed  into  frivolity,  and  it  was  pretty  late  be- 
fore I  found  myself  settled  down  to  whist,  at 
sixpenny  points,  in  the  ancient  familiar  way,  while 
most  of  the  others  fell  to  playing  pool  in  the 
billiard-room  next  door.  I  have  played  whist  from 
my  youth  up  j  with  the  preternatural  seriousness 
of  a  subaltern,  with  the  self-assurance  of  a  senior 
captain,  with  the  privileged  irascibility  of  a  major  ; 
and  my  eighteen  months  of  abstinence  at  Shreelane 
had  only  whetted  my  appetite  for  what  I  consider 
the  best  of  games.  After  the  long  lonely  even- 
ings there,  with  rats  for  company,  and,  for  re- 
"  taxation,  a  "  deck "  of  that  specially  demoniacal 
American  variety  of  patience  known  as  "  Fooly 
Ann,"  it  was  wondrous  agreeable  to  sit  again 
among  my  fellows,  and  "  lay  the  longs "  on  a 
severely  scientific  rubber  of  whist,  as  though  Mrs. 
Cadogan  and  the  Skebawn  Bench  of  Magistrates 
had  never  existed. 

We  were  in  the  first  game  of  the  second  rubber, 
and  I  was  holding  a  very  nice  playing  hand  ;  I 
had  early  in  the  game  moved  forth  my  trumps 


The  Waters  of  Strife  91 

to  battle,  and  I  was  now  in  the  ineffable  position 
of  scoring  with  the  small  cards  of  my  long  suit. 
The  cards  fell  and  fell  in  silence,  and  Ballantyne, 
my  partner,  raked  in  the  tricks  like  a  machine. 
The  concentrated  quiet  of  the  game  was  suddenly 
arrested  by  a  sharp,  unmistakable  sound  from  the 
barrack  yard  outside,  the  snap  of  a  Lee-Metford 
rifle. 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  exclaimed  Moffat,  the  senior 
major. 

Before  he  had  finished  speaking  there  was  a 
second  shot. 

"  By  Jove,  those  were  rifle-shots  !  Perhaps  I'd 
better  go  and  see  what's  up,"  said  Ballantyne,  who 
was  captain  of  the  week,  throwing  down  his  cards 
and  making  a  bolt  for  the  door. 

He  had  hardly  got  out  of  the  room  when  the 
first  long  high  note  of  the  "  assembly  "  sang  out, 
sudden  and  clear.  We  all  sprang  to  our  feet,  and 
as  the  bugle-call  went  shrilly  on,  the  other  men 
came  pouring  in  from  the  billiard-room,  and  stam- 
peded to  their  quarters  to  get  their  swords.  At 
the  same  moment  the  mess  sergeant  appeared  at 
the  outer  door  with  a  face  as  white  as  his  shirt- 
front. 

"  The  sentry  on  the  magazine  guard  has  been 
shot,  sir  ! "  he  said  excitedly  to  Moffat.  "They  say 
he's  dead  1 " 

We  were  all  out  in  the  barrack  square  in  an 
instant  ;  it  was  clear  moonlight,  and  the  square 
was  already  alive  with  hurrying  figures  cramming 
on  clothes  and  caps  as  they  ran  to  fall  in.  I  was 


92     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

a  free  agent  these  times,  and  I  followed  the  mess 
sergeant  across  the  square  towards  the  distant 
corner  where  the  magazine  stands.  As  we  doubled 
round  the  end  of  the  men's  quarters,  we  nearly  ran 
into  a  small  party  of  men  who  were  advancing 
slowly  and  heavily  in  our  direction. 

"  'Ere  he  is,  sir !"  said  the  mess  sergeant,  stopping 
himself  abruptly. 

They  were  carrying  the  sentry  to  the  hospital. 
His  busby  had  fallen  off  ;  the  moon  shone  mildly 
on  his  pale,  convulsed  face,  and  foam  and  strange 
inhuman  sounds  came  from  his  lips.  His  head 
was  rolling  from  side  to  side  on  the  arm  of  one 
of  the  men  who  was  carrying  him  ;  as  it  turned 
towards  me  I  was  struck  by  something  disturbingly 
familiar  in  the  face,  and  I  wondered  if  he  had  been 
in  my  old  company. 

"  What's  his  name,  sergeant  ?  "  I  said  to  the  mess 
sergeant. 

"  Private  Harris,  sir,"  replied  the  sergeant ;  "  he's 
only  lately  come  up  from  the  depot,  and  this  was 
his  first  time  on  sentry  by  himself." 

I  went  back  to  the  mess,  and  in  process  of  time 
the  others  straggled  in,  thirsting  for  whiskies-and- 
sodas,  and  full  of  such  information  as  there  was  to 
give.  Private  Harris  was  not  wounded  ;  both  the 
shots  had  been  fired  by  him,  as  was  testified  by 
the  state  of  his  rifle  and  the  fact  that  two  of  the 
cartridges  were  missing  from  the  packet  in  his 
pouch. 

"  I  hear  he  was  a  queer,  sulky  sort  of  chap 
always,"  said  Tomkinson,  the  subaltern  of  the  day, 


The  Waters  of  Strife  93 

"  but  if  he  was  having  a  try  at  suicide  he  made  a 
bally  bad  fist  of  it." 

"  He  made  as  good  a  fist  of  it  as  you  did  of 
putting  on  your  sword,  Tommy,"  remarked  Ballan- 
tyne,  indicating  a  dangling  white  strap  of  webbing, 
that  hung  down  like  a  tail  below  Mr.  Tomkinson's 
mess  jacket.  "  Nerves,  obviously,  in  both  cases  1 " 

The  exquisite  satisfaction  afforded  by  this  dis- 
covery to  Mr.  Tomkinson's  brother  officers  found 
its  natural  outlet  in  /a  bear -fight  that  threatened  to 
become  more  or  less  general,  and  in  the  course 
of  which  I  slid  away  unostentatiously  to  -bed  in 
Ballantyne's  quarters,  and  took  the  precaution  of 
barricading  my  door. 

Next  morning,  when  I  got  down  to  breakfast, 
I  found  Ballantyne  and  two  or  three  others  in  the 
mess  room,  and  my  first  inquiry  was  for  Private 
Harris. 

"  Oh,  the  poor  chap's  dead,"  saicf  Ballantyne ; 
"  it's  a  very  queer  business  altogether.  I  think  he 
must  have  been  wrong  in  the  top  storey.  The 
doctor  was  with  him  when  he  came  to  out  of  the 
fit,  or  whatever  it  was,  and  O'Reilly — that's  the 
doctor  y'  know,  Irish  of  course,  and,  by  the  way, 
poor  Harris  was  an  Irishman  too — says  that  he 
could  only  jibber  at  first,  but  then  he  got  better, 
and  he  got  out  of  him  that  when  he  had  been  on 
sentry-g'o  for  about  half-an-hour,  he  happened  to 
look  up  at  the  angle  of  the  barrack  wall  near  where 
it  joins  the  magazine  tower,  and  saw  a  face  looking 
at  him  over  it.  He  challenged  and  got  no  answer, 
but  the  face  just  stuck  there  staring  at  him  ;  he 


94     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

challenged  again,  and  then,  as  O'Reilly  said,  he 
4  just  oop  with  his  royfle  and  blamed  at  it.' "  Ballan- 
tyne  was  not  above  the  common  English  delusion 
that  he  could  imitate  an  Irish  brogue. 

"  Well,  what  happened  then  ?  " 

"Well,  according  to  the  poor  devil's  own  story, 
the  face  just  kept  on  looking  at  him  and  he  had 
another  shot  at  it,  and  'My  God  Almighty/  he 
said  to  O'Reilly,  'it  was  there  always  I*  While  he 
was  saying  that  to  O'Reilly  he  began  to  chuck 
another  fit;  and  apparently  went  on  chucking  them 
till  he  died  a  couple  of  hours  ago." 

"One 'result  of  it  is,"  said  another  man,  "that 
they  couldn't  get  a  man  to  go  on  sentry  there 
alone  last  night.  I  expect  we  shall  have  to  double 
the  sentries  there  every  night  as  long  as  we're 
here." 

"Silly  asses  1"  remarked  Tomkinson,  but- he 
said  it  without  conviction. 

After  breakfast  we  wrent  out  to  look  at  the  wall 
by  the  magazine.  It  was  about  eleven  feet  high, 
with  a  coped  top,  and  they  told  me  there  was  a 
deep  and  wide  dry  ditch  on  the  outside.  A  ladder 
was  brought,  and  we  examined  the  angle  of  the 
wall  at  which  Harris  said  the  face  had  appeared. 
He  had  made  a  beautiful  shot,  one  of  his  bullets 
having  flicked  a  piece  off  the  ridge  of  the  coping 
exactly  at  the  corner. 

"  It's  not  the  kind  o£  shot  a  man  would  make 
if  he  had  been  drinking,"  said  Moffat,  regretfully 
abandoning  his  first  simple  hypothesis ;  "  he  must 
have  been  mad." 


The  Waters  of  Strife  95 

"  I  wish  I  could  find  out  who  his  people  are/' 
said  Brownlow,  the  adjutant,  who  had  joined  us  ; 
"they  found  in  his  box  a  letter  to  him  from  his 
mother,  but  we  can't  make  out  the  name  of  the 
place.  By  Jove,  Yeates,  you're  an  Irishman,  per- 
haps you  can  help  us." 

He  handed  me  a  letter  in  a  dirty  envelope. 
There  was  no  address  given,  the  contents  were 
very  short,  and  I  may  be  forgiven  if  I  transcribe 
them  :— 

"My  dear  Son,  I  hope  you  are  well  as  this 
leaves  me  at  present,  thanks  be  to  God  for  it.  I 
am  very  much  unaisy  about  the  cow.  She  swelled 
up  this  morning,  she  ran  in  andnvas  frauding  and 
I  did  not  do  but  to  run  up  for  torn  sweeney  in 
the  minute.  We  are  thinking  it  is  too  much  lairels 
or  an  eirub  she  took.  I  do  not  know  what  I  will 
do  with  her.  God  help  one  that's  alone  with 
himself  I  had  not  a  days  luck  since  ye  went  away. 
I  am  thinkin'  them  that  wants  ye  is  tired  lookin' 
for  ye.  And  so  I  remain, 

"YOUR  FOND  MOTHER." 

"Well,  you  don't  get  much  of  a  leacf  from  the 
cow,  do  you  ?  And  what  the  deuce  is  an  eirub  ?  " 
said  Brownlow. 

"  It's  another  way  of  spelling  herb,"  I  said, 
turning  over  the  envelope  abstractedly.  The  post- 
mark was  almost  obliterated,  but  it  struck  me  it 
might  be  construed  into  the  word  Skebawn. 

"Look    here,"    I    said    suddenly,   "let   me  see 


96     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Harris.     It's  just  possible  I  may  know  something 
about  him." 

,  The  sentry's  body  had  been  laid  in  the  dead- 
house  near  the  hospital,  and  Brownlow  fetched 
the  key.  It  was  a  grim  little  whitewashed  build- 
ing, without  windows,  save  a  small  one  of  lancet 
shape,  high  up  in  one  gable,  through  which  a 
streak  of  April  sunlight  fell  sharp  and  slender  on 
the  whitewashed  wall.  The  long  figure  of  the 
sentry  lay  sheeted  on  a  stone  slab,  and  Brownlow, 
with  his  cap  in  his  hand,  gently  uncovered  the 
face. 

I  leaned  over  and  looked  at  it — at  the  heavy 
brows,  the  short  nose,  the  small  moustache  lying 
black  above  the  pale  mouth,  the  deep-set  eyes 
sealed  in  appalling  peacefulness.  There  rose  be- 
fore me  the  wild  dark  face  of  the  young  man 
who  had  hung  on  my  wheel  and  yelled  encourage- 
ment to  the  winning  coxswain  at  the  Lough  Lonen 
Regatta. 

"  I  know  him,"  I  said,  "his  name  is  Callaghan." 


V 

LISHEEN   RACES,   SECOND-HAND 

IT  may  or  may  not  be  agreeable  to  have  attained 
the  age  of  thirty-eight,  but,  judging  from  old 
photographs,  the  privilege  of  being  nineteen  has 
also  its  drawbacks.  I  turned  over  page  after  page 
of  an  ancient  book  in  which  were  enshrined  por- 
traits of  the  friends  of  my  youth,  singly,  in  David 
and  Jonathan  couples,  and  in  groups  in  which  I, 
as  it  seemed  to  my  mature  and  possibly  jaundiced 
perception,  always  contrived  to  look  the  most  im- 
measurable young  bounder  of  the  lot.  Our  faces 
were  fat,  and  yet  I  cannot  remember  ever  having 
been  considered  fat  in  my  life  ;  we  indulged  in 
low-necked  shirts,  in  "  Jemima  "  ties  with  diagonal 
stripes  ;  we  wore  coats  that  seemed  three  sizes 
too  small,  and  trousers  that  were  three  sizes  too 
big  ;  we  also  wore  small  whiskers. 

I  stopped  at  last  at  one  of  the  David  and 
Jonathan  memorial  portraits.  Yes,  here  was  the 
object  of  my  researches  ;  this  .stout  and  earnestly 
romantic  youth  was  Leigh  Kelway,  and  that  fatuous 
and  chubby  young  person  seated  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair  was  myself.  Leigh  Kelway  was  a  young 
man  ardently  believed  in  by  a  large  circle  of 


97 


98     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

admirers,  headed  by  himself  and  seconded  by 
me,  and  for  some  time  after  I  had  left  Magdalen 
for  Sandhurst,  I  maintained  a  correspondence 
with  him  on  large  and  abstract  subjects.  This 
phase  of  our  friendship  did  not  survive;  I  went 
soldiering  to  India,  and  Leigh  Kelway  took  honours 
and  moved  suitably  on  into  politics,  as  is  the 
duty  of  an  earnest  young  Radical  with  useful 
family  connections  and  an  independent  income. 
Since  then  I  had  at  intervals  seen  in  the  papers 
the  name  of  the  Honourable  Basil  Leigh  Kelway 
mentioned  as  a  speaker  at  elections,  as  a  writer 
of  thoughtful  articles  in  the  reviews,  but  we  had  * 
never  met,  and  nothing  could  have  been  less  ex- 
pected by  me  than  the  letter,  written  from  Mrs. 
Raverty's  Hotel,  Skebawn,  in  which  he  told  me  he 
was  making  a  tour  in  Ireland  with  Lord  Waterbury, 
to  whom  he  was  private  secretary.  Lord  Water- 
bury  was  at  present  having  a  few  days'  fishing 
near  Killarney,  and  he  himself,  not  being  a  fisher- 
man, was  collecting  statistics  for  his  chief  on 
various  points  connected  with  the  Liquor  Ques- 
tion in  Ireland.  He  had  heard  that  I  was  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  .was  kind  enough  to  add 
that  it  would  give  him  much  pleasure  to  meet  me 
again. 

With  a  stir  of  the  old  enthusiasm  I  wrote  begging 
him  to  be  my  guest  for  as  long  as  it  suited  him, 
and  the  following  afternoon  he  arrived  at  Shree- 
lane.  The  stout  young  friend  of  my  youth  had 
changed  considerably.  His  important  nose  and 
slightly  prominent  teeth  remained,  but  his  wavy 


Li  sheen  'Races,  Second-Hand          99 

hair  had  withdrawn  intellectually  from  his  temples  ; 
his  eyes  had  acquired  a  statesmanlike  absence  of 
expression,  and  his  neck  had  grown  long  and  bird- 
like.  It  was  his  first  visit  to  Ireland,  as  he  lost 
no  time  in  telling  me,  and  he  and  his  chief  had 
already  collected  much  valuable  information  on 
the  subject  to  which  they  had  dedicated  the 
Easter  recess.  He  further  informed  me  that  he 
thought  of  popularising  the  subject  in  a  novel,  and 
therefore  intended  to,  as  he  put  it,  "master  the 
brogue  "  before  his  return. 

During  the  next  few  days  I  did  my  best  for  Leigh 
Kelway.  I  turned  him  loose  on  Father  Scan  Ian  ; 
I  showed  him  Mohona,  our  champion  village,  that 
boasts  fifteen  public-houses  out  of  twenty  buildings 
of  sorts  and  a  railway  station  ;  I  took  him  to  hear 
the  prosecution  of  a  publican  for  selling  drink 
on  a  Sunday,  which  gave  him  an  opportunity  of 
studying  perjury  as  a  fine  art,  and  of  hearing  a 
lady,  oh  whom  police  suspicion  justly  rested,  pro- 
foundly summed  up  by  the  sergeant  as  "  a  woman 
who  had  th'  appairance  of  having  knocked  at  a 
back  door." 

The  net  result  of  these  experiences  has  not  yet 
been  given  to  the  world  by  Leigh  Kelway.  For 
my  own  part,  I  had  at  the  end  of  three  days  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  that  his  society,  when  combined 
with  a  note-book  and  a  thirst  for  statistics,  was 
not  what  I  used  to  find  it  at  Oxford.  I  therefore 
welcomed  a  suggestion  from  Mr.  Flurry  Knox 
that  we  should  accompany  him  to  some  typical 
country  races,  got  up  by  the  farmers  at  a  place 


ioo     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

called  Lisheen,  some  twelve  miles  away.  It  was 
the  worst  road  in  the  district,  the  races  of  the 
most  grossly  unorthodox  character ;  in  fact,  it  was 
the  very  place  for  Leigh  Kelway  to  collect  impres- 
sions of  Irish  life,  and  in  any  case  it  was  a  blessed 
opportunity  of  disposing  of  him  for  the  day. 

In  my  guest's  attire  next  morning  I  discerned 
an  unbending  from  the  role  of  cabinet  minister 
towards  that  of  sportsman ;  the  outlines  of  the 
note-book  might  be  traced  in  his  breast  pocket, 
but  traversing  it  was  the  strap  of  a  pair  of  field- 
glasses,  and  his  light  grey  suit  was  smart  enough 
for  Goodwood. 

Flurry  was  to  drive  us  to  the  races  at  one 
o'clock,  and  we  walked  to  Tory  Cottage  by  the 
short  cut  over  the  hill,  in  the  sunny  beauty 
of  an  April  morning.  Up  to  the  present  the 
weather  had  kept  me  in  a  more  or  less  apologetic 
condition  ;  any  one  who  has  entertained  a  guest  in 
the  country  knows  the  unjust  weight  of  responsi- 
bility that  rests  on  the  shoulders  of  the  host  in 
the  matter  of "  climate,  and  Leigh  Kelway,  after 
two  drenchings,  had  become  sarcastically  resigned 
to  what  I  felt  he  regarded  as  my  mismanagement. 

Flurry  took  us  into  the  house  for  a  drink  and 
a  biscuit,  to  keep  us  going,  as  he  said,  till  "  we 
lifted  some  luncheon  out  of  the  Castle  Knox 
people  at  the  races,"  and  it  was  while  we  were 
thus  engaged  that  the  first  disaster  of  the  day 
occurred.  The  dining-room  door  was  open,  so 
also  was  the  window  of  the  little  staircase  just 
outside  it,  and  through  the  window  travelled 


Lisheen  Ifaces,  Second-Hand         101 

sounds  that  tqld  of  the  close  proximity  of  the 
stable-yard ;  the  clattering  of  hoofs  on  cobble 
stones,  and  voices  uplifted  in  loud  conversation. 
Suddenly  from  this  region  there  arose  a  screech 
of  the  laughter  peculiar  to  kitchen  flirtation, 
followed  by  the  clank  of  a  bucket,  the  plunging 
of  a  horse,  and  then  an  uproar  of  wheels  and 
galloping  hoofs.  An  instant  afterwards  Flurry's- 
chestnut  cob,  in  a  dogcart,  dashed  at  full  gallop 
into  view,  with  the  reins  streaming  behind  him,, 
and  two  men  in  hot  pursuit.  Almost  before  I 
had  time  to  realise  what  had  happened,  Flurry 
jumped  through  the  half-opened  window  of  the 
dining-room  like  a  clown  at  a  pantomime,  and 
joined  in  the  chase ;  but  the  cob  was  resolved  to 
make  the  most  of  his  chance,  and  went  away 
down  the  drive  and  out  of  sight  at  a  pace  that 
distanced  every  one  save  the  kennel  terrier,  who 
sped  in  shrieking  ecstasy  beside  him. 

"Oh  merciful  hour!"  exclaimed  a  female  voice 
behind  me.  Leigh  Kelway  and  I  were  by  this 
time  watching  the  progress  of  events  from  the 
gravel,  in  company  with  the  remainder  of  Flurry's 
household.  "  The  horse  is  desthroyed  !  Wasn't 
that  the  quare  start  he  took !  And  all  in  the 
world  I  done  was  to  slap  a  bucket  of  wather  at 
Michael  out  the  windy,  and  'twas  himself  got  it 
in  place  of  Michael  ! " 

"Ye'll  never  ate  another  bit,  Bridgie  Dunnigan," 
replied  the  cook,  with  the  exulting  pessimism  of 
her  kind.  "The  Master'll  have  your  life  1 " 

Both  speakers  shouted  at  the  top  of  their  voices, 


102     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

probably  because  in  spirit  they  still  followed  afar 
the  flight  of  the  cob. 

Leigh  Kelway  looked  serious  as  we  walked  on 
down  the  drive.  I  almost  dared  to  hope  that  a 
note  on  the  degrading  oppression  of  Irish  retainers 
was  shaping  itself.  Before  we  reached  the  bend 
of  the  drive  the  rescue  party  was  returning  with 
the  fugitive,  all,  with  the  exception  of  the  kennel 
terrier,  looking  extremely  gloomy.  The  cob  had 
been  confronted  by  a  wooden  gate,  which  he 
had  unhesitatingly  taken  in  his  stride,  landing  on 
his  head  on  the  farther  side  with  the  gate  and 
the  cart  on  top  of  him,  and  had  arisen  with  a 
lame  foreleg,  a  cut  on  his  nose,  and  several 
other  minor  wounds. 

"You'd  think  the  brute  had  been  fighting  the 
cats,  with  all  the  scratches  and  scrapes  he  has 
on  him  1 "  said  Flurry,  casting  a  vengeful  eye  at 
Michael,  "and  one  shaft's  broken  and  so  is  the 
dashboard.  I  haven't  another  horse  in  the  place ; 
they're  all  out  at  grass,  and  so  there's  an  end  of 
the  races  1 " 

We  all  three  stood  blankly  on  the  hall-door 
steps  and  watched  the  wreck  of  the  trap  being 
trundled  up  the  avenue. 

"  I'm  very  sorry  you're  done  out  of  your  sport," 
said  Flurry  to  Leigh  Kelway,  in  tones  of  deplorable 
sincerity ;  "  perhaps,  as  there's  nothing  else  to 
do,  you'd  like  to  see  the  hounds ?  " 

I  felt  for  Flurry,  but  of  the  two  I  felt  more  for 
Leigh  Kelway  as  he  accepted  this  alleviation.  He 
disliked  dogs,  and  held  the  newest  views  on 


Lisheen  Ifaces,  Second-Hand         103 

sanitation,  and  4  knew  what  Flurry's  kennels 
could  smell  like.  I  was  lighting  a  precautionary 
cigarette,  when  we  caught  sight  of  an  old  man 
riding  up  the  drive.  Flurry  stopped  short. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,"  he  said ;  "  here's  an  old 
chap  that  often  brings  me  horses  for  the  kennels ; 
I  must  see  what  he  wants." 

The  man  dismounted  and  approached  Mr.  Knox, 
hat  in  hand,  towing  after  him  a  gaunt  and  ancient 
black  mare  with  a  big  knee. 

"  Well,  Barrett,"  began  Flurry,  surveying  the 
mare  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  "  I'm  not  giving 
the  hounds  meat  this  month,  or  only  very  little." 

"Ah,  Master  Flurry,"  answered  Barrett,  "it's 
you  that's  pleasant  1  Is  it  give  the  like  o'  this 
one  for  the  dogs  to  ate  !  She's  a  vallyble  strong 
young  mare,  no  more  than  shixteen  years  of  age, 
and  ye'd  sooner  be  lookin'  at  her  goin'  under  a 
side-car  than  eatin'  your  dinner." 

"There  isn't  as  much  meat  on  her  as  'd  fatten 
a  jackdaw,"  said  Flurry,  clinking  the  silver  in  his 
pockets  as  he  searched  for  a  matchbox.  "  What 
are  you  asking  for  her  ?  " 

The  old  man  drew  cautiously  up  to  him. 

"Master  Flurry,"  he  said  solemnly,  "I'll  sell  her 
to  your  honour  for  five  pounds,  and  she'll  be  worth 
ten  after  you  give  her  a  month's  grass." 

Flurry  lit  his  cigarette  ;  then  he  said  impertur- 
bably,  "  I'll  give  you  seven  shillings  for  her." 

Old  Barrett  put  on  his  hat  in  silence,  and  in 
silence  buttoned  his  coat  and  took  hold  of  the 
stirrup  leather.  Flurry  remained  immovable. 


IO4     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  Master  Flurry,"  said  old  Barrett  suddenly,  with 
tears  in  his  voice,  "you  must-make  it  eight,  sir  ! " 

"  Michael  ! "  called  out  Flurry  with  apparent 
irrelevance,  "run  up  to  your  father's  and  ask  him 
would  he  lend  me  a  loan  of  his  side-car." 

Half-an-hour  later  we  were,  improbable  as  it 
may  seem,  on  our  way  to  Lisheen  races.  We 
were  seated  upon  an  outside-car  of  immemorial 
age,  whose  joints  seemed  to  open  and  close  again 
as  it  swung  in  and  out  of  the  ruts;  whose  tattered 
cushions  stank  of  rats  and  mildew,  whose  wheels 
staggered  and  rocked  like  the  legs  of  a  drunken 
man.  Between  the  shafts  jogged  the  latest  addi- 
tion to  the  kennel  larder,  the  eight-shilling  mare. 
Flurry  sat  on  one  side,  and  kept  her  going  at  a 
rate  of  not  less  than  four  miles  an  hour ;  Leigh 
Kelway  and  I  held  on  to  the  other. 

"She'll  get  us  as  far  as  Lynch's  anyway,"  said 
Flurry,  abandoning  his  first  contention  that  she 
could  do  the  whole  distance,  as  he  pulled  her  on 
to  her  legs  after  her  fifteenth  stumble,  "and  he'll 
lend  us  some  sort  of  a  horse,  if  it  was  only  a 
mule." 

"  Do  you  notice  that  these  cushions  are  very 
damp  ? "  said  Leigh  Kelway  to  me,  in  a  hollow 
undertone. 

"  Small  blame  to  them  if  they  are ! "  replied 
Flurry.  "  I've  no  doubt  but  they  were  out  under 
the  rain  all  day  yesterday  at  Mrs.  Hurly's  funeral." 

Leigh  Kelway  made  no  reply,  but  he  took  his 
note-book  out  of  his  pocket  and  sat  on  it. 

We  arrived  at  Lynch's  at  a  little  past  three,  and 


Lisheen  *I(aces^  Second-Hand         105 

were  there  confronted  by  the  next  disappointment 
of  this  disastrous  day.  The  door  of  Lynch's  farm- 
house was  locked,  and  nothing  replied  to  our 
knocking  except  a  puppy,  who  barked  hysterically 
from  within. 

"  All  gone  to  the  races/'  said  Flurry  philosophi- 
cally, picking  his  way  round  the  manure  heap. 
"  No  matter,  here's  the  filly  in  the  shed  here.  I 
know  he's  had  her  under  a  car." 

An  agitating  ten  minutes  ensued,  during  which 
Leigh  Kelway  and  I  got  the  eight-shilling  mare 
out  of  the  shafts  and  the  harness,  and  Flurry,  with 
our  inefficient  help,  crammed  the  young  mare  into 
them.  As  Flurry  had  stated  that  she  had  been 
driven  before,  I  was  bound  to  believe  him,  but  the 
difficulty  of  getting  the  bit  into  her  mouth  was 
remarkable,  and  so  also  was  the  crab-like  manner 
in  which  she  sidled  out  of  the  yard,  with  Flurry 
and  myself  at  her  head,  and  Leigh  Kelway  hanging 
on  to  the  back  of  the  car  to  keep  it  from  jamming 
in  the  gateway. 

"  Sit  up  on  the  car  now,"  said  Flurry  when  we 
got  out  on  to  the  road  ;  "  I'll  lead  her  on  a  bit. 
She's  been  ploughed  anyway  ;  one  side  of  her 
mouth's  as  tough  as  a  gad  !  " 

Leigh  Kelway  threw  away  the  wisp  of  grass  with 
which  he  had  been  cleaning  his  hands,  and  mopped 
his  intellectual  forehead  ;  he  was  very  silent.  We 
both  mounted  the  car,  and  Flurry,  with  the  reins 
in  his  hand,  walked  beside  the  filly,  who,  with  her 
tail  clasped  in,  moved  onward  in  a  succession  of 
short  jerks. 


io6     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  Oh,  she's  all  right  !  "  said  Flurry,  beginning  to 
run,  and  dragging  the  filly  into  a  trot ;  "  once  she 
gets  started—"  Here  the  filly  spied  a  pig  in  a 
neighbouring  .field,  and  despite  the  fact  that  she 
had  probably  eaten  out  of  the  same  trough  with  it, 
she  gave  a  violent  side  spring,  and  broke  into  a 
gallop. 

"  Now  we're  off ! "  shouted  Flurry,  making  a 
jump  at  the  car  and  clambering  on  ;  "  if  the  traces 
hold  we'll  do  ! " 

The  English  language  is  powerless  to  suggest  the 
view-halloo  with  which  Mr.  Knox  ended  his  speech, 
or  to  do  more  than  indicate  the  rigid  anxiety  of 
Leigh  Kelway's  face  as  he  regained  his  balance 
after  the  preliminary  jerk,  and  clutched  the  back 
rail.  It  must  be  said  for  Lynch's  filly  that  she  did 
not  kick ;  she  merely  fled,  like  a  dog  with  a  kettle 
tied  to  its  tail,  from  the  pursuing  rattle  and  jingle 
behind  her,  with  the  shafts  buffeting  her  dusty 
sides  as  the  car  swung  to  and  fro.  Whenever  she 
showed  any  signs  of  slackening,  Flurry  loosed 
another  yell  at  her  that  renewed  her  panic,  and 
thus  we  precariously  covered  another  two  or  three 
miles  of  our  journey. 

Had  it  not  been  fdr  a  large  stone  lying  on  the 
road,  and  had  the  filly  not  chosen  to  swerve  so 
as  to  bring  the  wheel  on  top  of  it,  I  dare  say  we 
might  have  got  to  the  races  ;  but  by  an  unfortu- 
nate coincidence  both  these  things  occurred,  and 
when  we  recovered  from  the  consequent  shock, 
the  tire  of  one  of  the  wheels  had  come  off,  and 
was  trundling  with  cumbrous  gaiety  into  the  ditch. 


Lis/ieen  ^Races^  Second-Hand         107 


Flurry  stopped  the  filly  and  began  to  laugh  ;  Leigh 
Kelway  said  something  startlingly  unparliamentary 
under  his  breath. 

"Well,  it  might  be  worse/'  Flurry  said  con- 
solingly as  he  lifted  the  tire  on  to  the  car  ;  "  we're 
not  half  a  mile  from  a  forge." 

We  walked  that  half-mile  in  funereal  procession 
behind  the  car  ;  the  glory  had  departed  from  the 
weather,  and  an  ugly  wall  of  cloud  was  rising  up 
out  of  the  west  to  meet  the  sun  ;  the  hills  had 
darkened  and  lost  colour,  and  the  white  bog  cotton 
shivered  in  a  cold  wind  that  smelt  of  rain. 

By  a  miracle  the  smith  was  not  at  the  races, 
owing,  as  he  explained,  to  his  having  "  the  tooth- 
aches," the  two  facts  combined  producing  in  him 
a  morosity  only  equalled  by  that  of  Leigh  Kelway. 
The  smith's  sole  comment  on  the  situation  was 
to  unharness  the  filly,  and  drag  her  into  the  forge, 
where  he  tied  her  up.  He  then  proceeded  to 
whistle  viciously  on  his  fingers  in  the  direction  of 
a  cottage,  and  to  command,  in  tones  of  thunder, 
some  unseen  creature  to  bring  over  a  couple  of 
baskets  of  turf.  The  turf  arrived  in  process  of 
time,  on  a  woman's  back,  and  was  arranged  in  a 
circle  in  a  yard  at  the  back  of  the  forge.  The  tire 
was  bedded  in  it,  and  the  turf  was  with  difficulty 
kindled  at  different  points. 

"Ye'll  not  get  to  the  races  this  day,"  said  the 
smith,  yielding  to  a  sardonic  satisfaction  ;  "  the 
turf's  wet,  and  I  haven't  one  to  do  a  hand's  turn 
for  me."  He  laid  the  wheel  on  the  ground  and 
lit  his  pipe. 


io8     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Leigh  Kelway  looked  pallidly  about  him  over 
the  spacious  empty  landscape  of  brown  mountain 
slopes  patched  with  golden  furze  and  seamed  with 
grey  walls  ;  I  wondered  if  he  were  as  hungry  as 
I.  We  sat  on  stones  opposite  the  smouldering 
ring  of  turf  and  smoked,  and  Flurry  beguiled  the 
smith  into  grim  and  calumnious  confidences  about 
every  horse  in  the  country.  After  about  an  hour, 
during  which  the  turf  "went  out  three  times,  and 
the  weather  became  more  and  more  threatening, 
a  girl  with  a  red  petticoat  over  her  head  appeared 
at  the  gate  of  the  yard,  and  said  to  the  smith  : 

"  The  horse  is  gone  away  from  ye." 

"  Where  ?  "  exclaimed  Flurry,  springing  to  his 
feet. 

"  I  met  him  walking  wesht  the  road  there  below, 
and  when  I  thought  to  turn  him  he  commenced  to 
gallop." 

"  Pulled  her  head  out  of  the  headstall,"  said 
Flurry,  after  a  rapid  survey  of  the  forge.  "  She's 
near  home  by  now." 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  rain  began  ;  the 
situation  could  scarcely  have  been  better  stage- 
managed.  After  reviewing  the  position,  Flurry  and 
I  decided  that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  walk 
to  a  public-house  a  couple  .of  miles  farther  on,  feed 
there  if  possible,  hire  a  car,  and  go  home. 

It  was  an  uphill  walk,  with  mild  generous  rain- 
drops striking  thicker  and  thicker  on  our  faces  ; 
no  one  talked,  and  the  grey  clouds  crowded  up 
from  behind  the  hills  like  billows  of  steam.  Leigh 
Kelway  bore  it  all  with  egregious  resignation.  I 


Lisheen  <r^aces^  Second-Hand         109 

cannot  pretend  that  I  was  at  heart  sympathetic, 
but  by  virtue  of  being  his  host  I  felt  responsible 
for  the  breakdown,  for  his  light  suit,  for  everything, 
and  divined  his  sentiment  of  horror  at  the  first  sight 
of  the  public-house. 

It  was  a  long,  low  cottage,  with  a  line  of  dripping 
elm-trees  overshadowing  it ;  empty  cars  and  carts 
round  its  door,  and  a  babel  from  within  made  it 
evident  that  the  racegoers  were  pursuing  a  gradual 
homeward  route.  The  shop  was  crammed  with 
steaming  countrymen,  whose  loud  brawling  voices, 
all  talking  together,  roused  my  English  friend  to 
his  first  remark  since  we  had  left  the  forge. 

"Surely,  Yeates,  we  are  not  going  into  that 
place?"  he  said  severely;  "those  men  are  all 
drunk." 

"Ah,  nothing  to  signify  1"  said  Flurry,  plunging 
in  and  driving  his  way  through  the  throng  like  a- 
plough.  "  Here,  Mary  Kate  ! "  he  called  to  the 
girl  behind  the  counter,  "  fell  your  mother  we  want 
some  tea  and  bread  and  butter  in  the  room  inside." 

The  smell  of  bad  tobacco  and  spilt  porter  was 
choking  ;  we  worked  our  way  through  it  after  him 
towards  the  end  of  the  shop,  intersecting  at  every 
hand  discussions  about  the  races. 

"Tom  was  very  nice.  He  spared  his  horse  all 
along,  and  then  he  put  into  him — "  "Well,  at 
Goggin's  corner  the  third  horse  was  before  the 
second,  but  he  was  goin'  wake  in  himself."  "  I 
tell  ye  the  mare  had  the  hind  leg  fasht  in  the  fore." 
"Clancy  was  dipping  in  the  saddle."  "Twas  a 
dam  nice  race  whatever " 


no     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

We  gained  the  inner  room  at  last,  a  cheerless 
apartment,  adorned  with  sacred  pictures,  a  sewing- 
machine,  and  an  array  of  supplementary  tumblers 
and  wineglasses ;  but,  at  all  events,  we  had  it  so 
far  to  ourselves.  At  intervals  during  the  next  half- 
hour  Mary  Kate  burst  in  with  cups  and  plates, 
cast  them  on  the  table  and  disappeared,  but  of 
food  there  was  no  sign.  After  a  further  period 
of  starvation  and  of  listening  to  the  noise  in  the 
shop,  Flurry  made  a  sortie,  and,  after  lengthy  and 
unknown  adventures,  reappeared  carrying  a  huge 
brown  teapot,  and  driving  before  him  Mary  Kate 
with  the  remainder  of  the  repast.  The  bread  tasted 
of  mice,  the  butter  of  turf-smoke,  the  tea  of  brown 
paper,  but  we  had  got  past  the  critical  stage.  I 
had  entered  upon  my  third  round  of  bread  and 
butter  when  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  my 
valued  acquaintance,  Slipper,  slightly  advanced  in 
liquor,  presented  himself  to  our  gaze.  His  bandy 
legs  sprawled  consequentially,  his  nose  was  redder 
than  a  coal  of  fire,  his  prominent  eyes  rolled 
crookedly  upon  us,  and  his  left  hand  swept  behind 
him  the  attempt  of  Mary  Kate  to  frustrate  his 
entrance. 

"  Good-evening  to  my  vinerable  friend,  Mr.  Flurry 
Knox  ! "  he  began,  in  the  voice  of  a  town  crier, 
"and  to  the  Honourable  Major  Yeates,  and  the 
English  gintleman  ! " 

This  impressive  opening  immediately  attracted 
an  audience  from  the  shop,  and  the  doorway  filled 
with  grinning  faces  as  Slipper  advanced  farther 
into  the  room. 


Lisheen  'Races,  Second-Hand         in 

"Why  weren't  ye  at  the  races,  Mr.  Flurry?"  he 
went  on,  his  roving  eye  taking  a  grip  of  us  all  ai 
the  same  time ;  "  sure  the  Miss  Bennetts  and  all 
the  ladies  was  asking  where  were  ye." 

"  It'd  take  some  time  to  tell  them  that,"  said 
Flurry,  with  his  mouth  full ;  "  but  what  about  the 
races,  Slipper  ?  Had  you  good  sport  ?  " 

"  Sport  is  it  ?  Divil  so  pleasant  an  afternoon 
ever  you  seen,"  replied  Slipper.  He  leaned  against 
a  side  table,  and  all  the  glasses  on  it  jingled.  "  Does 
your  honour  know  O'Driscoll?"  he  went  on  irre- 
levantly. "  Sure  you  do.  He  was  in  your  honour's 
stable.  It's  what  we  were  all  sayin' ;  it  was  a  great 
pity  your  honour  was  not  there,  for  the  likin'  you 
had  to  Driscoll." 

"  That's  thrue,"  said  a  voice  at  the  door. 

"There  wasn't  one  in  the  Barony  but  was 
gethered  in  it,  through  and  fro,"  continued >  Slipper, 
with  a  quelling  glance  at  the  interrupter ;  "  and 
there  was  tints  for  sellin'  porthef,  and  whisky  as 
pliable  as  new  milk,  and  boys  goin'  round  the 
tints  outside,  feeling  for  heads  with  the  big  ends 
of  their  blackthorns,  and  all  kinds  of  recreations,, 
and  the  Sons  of  Liberty's  piffler  and  dhrum  band 
from  Skebawn  ;  though  faith  !  there  was  more  of 
thim  runnin'  to  look  at  the  races  than  what  was 
playin'  in  it ;  not  to  mintion  different  occasions 
that  the  bandmasther  was  atin'  his  lunch  within  in 
the  whisky  tint." 

"  But  what  about  Driscoll  ?  "  said  Flurry. 

"  Sure  it's  about  him  I'm  tellin'  ye,"  replied 
Slipper,  with  the  practised  orator's  wTatchful  eye 


ii2     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

on  his  growing  audience.  "  'Twas  within  in  the 
same  whisky  tint  meself  was,  with  the  bandmasther 
and  a  few  of  the  lads,  an'  we  buyin'  a  ha'porth  o' 
crackers,  when  I  seen  me  brave  Driscoll  landin' 
into  the  tint,  and  a  pair  o'  thim  long  boots  on 
him  ;  him  that  hadn't  a  shoe  nor  a  stocking  to 
his  foot  when  your  honour  had  him  picking  grass 
out  o'  the  stones  behind  in  your  yard.  'Well,' 
says  I  to  meself,  '  we'll  knock  some  spoort  out  of 
Driscoll  ! ' 

" '  Come  here  to  me,  acushla  1 '  says  I  to  him  ; 
'  I  suppose  it's  some  way  wake  in  the  legs  y'are/ 
says  I,  'an'  the  docthor  put  them  on  ye  the  way 
the  people  wouldn't  thrample  ye  ! ' 

" '  May  the  divil  choke  ye  ! '  says  he,  pleasant 
enough,  but  I  knew  by  the  blush  he  had  he  was 
vexed. 

"  '  Then  I  suppose  'tis  a  left-tenant  colonel  y'are,' 
says  I  ;  '  yer  mother  must  be  proud  out  o'  ye  1 ' 
says  I,  '  an'  maybe  ye'll  lend  her  a  loan  o'  thim 
waders  when  she's  rinsin'  yer  bauneen  in  the  river!' 
says  I. 

" '  There'll  be  work  out  o'  this  ! '  says  he,  lookin' 
at  me  both  sour  and  bitther. 

"'Well  indeed,  I  was  thinkin'  you  were  blue 
moulded  for  want  of  a  batin','  says  I.  He  was 
for  fightin'  us  then,  but  afther  we  had  him  paci- 
ficated  with  about  a  quarther  of  a  naggin  o'  sperrits, 
he  told  us  he  was  goin'  ridin'  in  a  race. 

"'An'  what'll  ye  ride  ?'  says  I. 

" '  Owld  Bocock's  mare,'  says  he. 

"'Knipes!'  says  I,  sayin'  a  great  curse;  'is  it 


Lisheen  '^aces^  Second-Hand         113 

that  little  staggeen  from  the  mountains  ;  sure  she's 
somethin'  about  the  one  age  with  meself,'  says  I. 
'  Many's  the  time  Jamesy  Geoghegan  and  meself 
used  to  be  dhrivin'  her  to  Macroom  with  pigs  an' 
all  soorts/  says  I  ;  '  an'  is  it  leppin'  stone  walls  ye 
want  her  to  go  now  ? ' 

"'Faith,  there's  walls  and  every  vari'ty  of  ob- 
stackle  in  it/  says  he. 

" '  It'll  be  the  best  o'  your  play,  so,'  says  I,  '  to 
leg  it  away  home  out  o'  this.' 

" '  An'  who'll  ride  her,  so  ? '  says  he. 

"'  Let  the  divil  ride  her,'  says  I." 

Leigh  Kelway,  who  had  been  leaning  back 
seemingly  half  asleep,  obeyed  the  hypnotism  of 
Slipper's  gaze,  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"  That  wras  now  all  the  conversation  that  passed 
between  himself  and  meself,"  resumed  Slipper, 
"and  there  was  no  great  delay  afther  that  till 
they  said  there  was  a  race  startin'  and  the 
dickens  a  one  at  all  was  goin'  to  ride  only 
two,  Driscoll,  and  one  Clancy.  With  tha.t  then 
I  seen  Mr.  Kinahane,  the  Petty  Sessions  clerk, 
goin'  round  clearin'  the  coorse,  an'  I  gethered 
a  few  o'  the  neighbours,  an'  we  walked  the  fields 
hither  and  over  till  we  seen  the  most  of  th' 
obstackles. 

" '  Stand  aisy  now  by  the  plantation,'  says  I ;  '  if 
they  get  to  come  as  far  as  this,  believe  me  ye'll  see 
spoort/  says  I,  'an'  'twill  be  a  convanient  spot  co 
encourage  the  mare  if  she's  anyway  wake  in  her- 
self,' says  I,  cuttin'  somethin'  about  five  foot  of  an 
ash  sapling  out  o'  the  plantation. 

H 


ii4     S°me  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

" '  That's  yer  sort ! '  says  owld  Bocock,  that  was 
thravellin'  the  racecoorse,  peggin'  a  bit  o'  paper 
down  with  a  thorn  in  front  of  every  lep,  the 


"  '  LET  THE  DIV1L  RIDE  HER,'  SAYS  I " 


way  Driscoll  'd  know  the  handiest  place  to  face 
her  at  it. 

"Well,  I  hadn't  barely  thrimmed  the  ash  plant——" 


Lishecn  <3$aces,  Second-Hand      ^115 

"  Have  you  any  jam,  Mary  Kate  ? "  interrupted 
Flurry,  whose  meal  had  been  in  no  way  interfered 
with  by  either  the  story  or  the  highly-scented 
crowd  who  had  come  to  listen  to  it. 


MR.  KINAHANE,  THE  PETTY  SESSIONS  CLERK,  COIN*  ROUN'D 
CLEARIN'  THE  COORSE 


"We  have  no  jam,  only  thraycle,  sir,"  replied 
the  invisible  Mary  Kate. 

"  I  hadn't  the  switch  barely  thrimmed,"  repeated 
Slipper  firmly,  "  when  I  heard  the  people  screechin', 
an'  I  seen  Driscoll  an'  Clancy  comin'  on,  leppin* 
all  before  them,  an'  owld  Bocock's  mare  bellusin* 
an'  powdherin'  along,  an'  bedad !  whatever 


n6     Some   'Experiences  of  an  Irish 

stackle  wouldn't  throw  her  down,  faith,  she'd  throw 
it  down,  an'  there's  the  thraffic  they  had  in  it. 

" '  I  declare  to  me  sowl/  says  I,  '  if  they  continue 
on  this  way  there's  a  great  chance  some  one  o' 
thim  '11  win/  says  I. 

" '  Ye  lie  ! '  says  the  bandmasther,  bein'  a  thrifle 
fulsome  after  his  luncheon. 

" '  I  do  not/  says  I,  '  in  regard  of  seein'  how 
soople  them  two  boys  is.  Ye  might  observe/  says 


"WHATEVER  OBSTACKLE  WOULDN'T  THROW  HER  DOWN, 
FAITH,  SHE'D  THROW  IT  DOWN" 


I,  '  that  if  they  have  no  convanient  way  to  sit  on 
the  saddle,  they'll  ride  the  neck  o'  the  horse  till 
such  time  as  they  gets  an  occasion  to  lave  it/ 
says  I. 

" '  Arrah,  shut  yer  mouth  1 '  says  the  bandmasther  ; 
'they're  puckin'  out  this  way  now,  an'  may  the 
divil  admire  me  1 '  says  he,  '  but  Clancy  has  the 
other  bet  out,  and  the  divil  such  leatherin'  and 


Lisheen  %$aces,  Second-Hand         117 

beltin'  of  owld  Bocock's  mare  ever  you  seen  as 
what's  in  it ! '  says  he. 

"Well,  when  I  seen  them  comin'  to  me,  and 
Driscoll  about  the  length  of  the  plantation  behind 
Clancy,  I  let  a  couple  of  bawls. 

"'Skelp   her,   ye   big   brute!'   says    I.    /What 
good's  in  ye  that 
ye  aren't  able  to 
skelp  her  ?  '  " 

The  yell  and  the 
histrionic  flourish 
of -his  stick  with 
which  Slipper  de- 
livered this  inci- 
dent brought 
down  the  house. 
Leigh  Kelway 
was  sufficiently 
moved  to  ask  me 
in  an  undertone 
if  "  skelp  "  was  a 
local  term. 

"Well,  Mr. 
Flurry,  and  gin- 
tlemen,"  recom- 
menced Slipper, 

"  I  declare  to  ye  when  owld  Bocock's  mare  heard 
thim  roars  she  sthretched  out  her  neck  like  a 
gandher,  and  when  she  passed  me  out  she  give  a 
couple  of  grunts,  and  looked  at  me  as  ugly  as  a 
Christian. 

"  '  Hah  ! '  says  I,  givin'  her  a  couple  o'  dhraws 


SKELP  HER,  YE  BIG  BRUTE  !  '  SAYS  I  " 


1 1 8     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

o'  th'  ash  plant  across  the  butt  o'  the  tail,  the  way 
I  wouldn't  blind  her  ;  t  I'll  make  ye  grunt  ! '  says 
I,  '  I'll  nourish  ye  ! ' 

"  I  knew  well  she  was  very  frightful  of  th'  ash 
plant  since  the  winter  Tommeen  Sullivan  had  her 
under  a  sidecar.  But  now,  in  place  of  havin'  any 
obligations  to  me,  ye'd  be  surprised  if  ye  heard  the 
blaspheemious  expressions  of  that  young  boy  that 
was  ridin'  her  ;  and  whether  it  was  over-anxious 
he  was,  turnin'  around  the  way  I'd  hear  him  cursin',- 
or  whether  it  was  some  slither  or  slide  came  to 
owld  Bocock's  mare,  I  dunno,  but  she  was  bet  up 
agin  the  last  obstackle  'but  two,  and  before  ye 
could  say  *  Schnipes,'  she  was  standin'  on  her  two 
ears  beyond  in  th'  other  field  I  I  declare  to  ye, 
on  the  vartue  of  me  oath,  she  stood  that  way  till 
she  reconnoithered  what  side  would  Driscoll  fall, 
an'  she  turned  about  then  and  rolled  on  him  as 
cosy  as  if  he  was  meadow  grass  !  " 

Slipper  stopped  short  ;  the  people  in  the  door- 
way groaned  appreciatively  ;  Mary  Kate  murmured 
«  The  Lord  save  us  !  " 

"  The  blood  was  dhruv  out  through  his  nose  and 
ears,"  continued  Slipper,  with  a  voice  that  indicated 
the  cream  of  the  narration,  "and  you'd  hear  his 
bones  crackin'  on  the  ground  !  You'd  have  pitied 
the  poor  boy." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  said  Leigh  Kelway,  sitting  up 
very  straight  in  his  chair. 

^  Was  he  hurt,  Slipper  ?  "  asked  Flurry  casually. 

"  Hurt  is  it  ?  "  echoed  Slipper  in  high  scorn  ; 
"killed  on  the  spot  1"  He  paused  to  relish  the 


Lisheen  ^aces^  Second-Hand         119 


effect  of  the  denouement  on  Leigh  Kelway.  "  Oh, 
divil  so  pleasant  an  afthernoon  ever  you  seen  ;  and 
indeed,  Mr.  Flurry,  it's  what  we  were  all  sayin', 
it  was  a  great  pity  your  honour  was  not  there  for 
the  likin'  you  had  for  Driscoll." 

As  he  spoke  the  last  word  there  was  an  outburst 
of  singing  and  cheering  from  a  car-load  of  people 
who  had  just  pulled  up  at  the  door.  Flurry 
listened,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  began  to 
laugh. 

"  It  scarcely  strikes  one  as  a  comic  incident,"  said 
Leigh  Kelway,  very  coldly  to  me  ;  "  in  fact,  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  police  ought  -  " 

"  Show  me  Slipper  !  "  bawled  a  voice  in  the  shop  ; 
"  show  me  that  dirty  little  undherlooper  till  I  have 
his  blood  !  Hadn't  I  the  race  won  only  for  he 
souring  the  mare  on  me  !  What's  that  you  say  ? 
I  tell  ye  he  did  !  He  left  seven  slaps  on  her  with 
the  handle  of  a  hay-rake  -  " 

There  was  in  the  room  in  which  we  were  sitting 
a  second  door,  leading  to  the  back  yard,  a  door 
consecrated  to  the  unobtrusive  visits  of  so-called 
"Sunday  travellers."  Through  it  Slipper  faded  away 
like  a  dream,  and,  simultaneously,  a  tall  young  man, 
with  a  face  like  a  red-hot  potato  tied  up  in  a 
bandage,  squeezed  his  way  from  the  shop  into  the 
room. 

"  Well,  Driscoll,"  said  Flurry,  "since  it  wasn't  the 
teeth  of  the  rake  he  left  on  the  mare,  you  needn't 
be  talking  1  " 

Leigh  Kelway  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with 
a  wilder  expression  in  his  eye  than  I  had  thought  it 


120     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

capable  of.  I  read  in  it  a  resolve  to  abandon 
Ireland  to  her  fate. 

At  eight  o'clock  we  were  still  waiting  for  the  car 
that  we  had  been  assured  should  be  ours  directly  it 
returned  from  the  races.  At  half-past  eight  we  had 
adopted  the  only  possible  course  that  remained, 
and  had  accepted  the  offers  of  lifts  on  the  laden 
cars  that  were  returning  to  Skebawn,  and  I 
presently  was  gratified  by  the  spectacle  of  my 
friend  Leigh  Kelway  wedged  between  a  roulette 
table  and  its  proprietor  on  one  side  of  a  car,  with 
Driscoll  and  Slipper,  mysteriously  reconciled  and 
excessively  drunk,  seated,  locked  in  each  other's 
arms,  on  the  other.  Flurry  and  I,  somewhat 
similarly  placed,  followed  on  two  other  cars.  I 
was  scarcely  surprised  when  I  was  informed  that 
the  melancholy  white  animal  in  the  shafts  of  the 
leading  car  was  Owld  Bocock's  much-enduring 
steeplechaser. 

The  night  was  very  dark  and  stormy,  and  it  is 
almost  superfluous  to  say  that  no  one  carried 
lamps  ;  .the  rain  poured  upon  us,  and  through  wind 
and  wet  Owld  Bocock's  mare  set  the  pace  at  a  rate 
that  showed  she  knew  from  bitter  experience  what 
was  expected  from  her  by  gentlemen  who  had 
spent  the  evening  in  a  jpublic-house  ;  behind  her 
the  other  two  tired  horses  followed  closely,  incited 
to  emulation  by  shouting,  singing,  and  a  liberal 
allowance  of  whip.  We  were  a  good  ten  miles 
from  Skebawn,  and  never  had  the  road  seemed  so 
long.  For  mile  after  mile  the  half-seen  low  walls 
slid  past  us,  with  occasional  plunges  into  caverns  of 


Lisheen  3$aces,  Second-Hand         121 

darkness  under  trees.  Sometimes  from  a  wayside 
cabin  a  dog  would  dash  out  to  bark  at  us  as  we 
rattled  by  ;  sometimes  our  cavalcade  swung  aside 
to  pass,  with  yells  and  counter-yells,  crawling  carts 
filled  with  other  belated  race-goers. 

I  was  nearly  wet  through,  even  though  I  received 
considerable  shelter  from  a  Skebawn  publican,  who 
slept  heavily  and  irrepressibly  on  my  shoulder. 
Driscoll,  on  the  leading  car,  had  struck  up  an' 
approximation  to  the  "  Wearing  of  the  Green," 
when  a  wavering  star  appeared  on  the  road  ahead 
of  us.  It  grew  momently  larger  ;  it  came  towards 
us  apace.  Flurry,  on  the  car  behind  me,  shouted 
suddenly— 

"  That's  the  mail  car,  with  one  of  the  lamps  out  \ 
Tell  those  fellows  ahead  to  look  out !  " 

But  the  warning  fell  on  deaf  ears. 

"  When  laws  can  change  the  blades  of  grass 
From  growing  as  they  grow " 

howled  five  discordant  voices,  oblivious  of  the 
towering  proximity  of  the  star. 

A  Bianconi  mail  car  is  nearly  three  times  the 
size  of  an  ordinary  outside  car,  and  when  on  a 
dark  night  it  advances,  Cyclops-like,  with  but  one 
eye,  it  is  difficult  for  even  a  sober  driver  to 
calculate  its  bulk.  Above  the  sounds  of  melody 
there  arose  the  thunder  of  heavy  wheels,  the 
splashing  trample  of  three  big  horses,  then  a  crash 
and  a  turmoil  of  shouts.  Our  cars  pulled  up  just 
in  time,  and  I  tore  myself  from  the  embrace  of  my 
publican  to  go  to  Leigh  Kelway's  assistance. 


122     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

The  wing  of  the  Bianconi  had  caught  the  wing 
of  the  smaller  car,  flinging  Owld  Bocock's  mare 
on  her  side  and  throwing  her  freight  headlong 
on  top  of  her,  the  heap  being  surmounted  by 
the  roulette  table.  The  driver  of  the  mail  car 
unshipped  his  solitary  lamp  and  turned  it  on  the 
disaster.  I  saw  that  Flurry  had  already  got  hold 
of  Leigh  Kelway  by  the  heels,  and  was  dragging 
him  from  under  the  others.  He  struggled  up 
hatless,  muddy,  and  gasping,  with  -  Driscoll  hanging 
on  by  his  neck,  still  singing  the  "  Wearing  of  the 
Green." 

A  voice  from  the  mail"  car  said  incredulously, 
"Leigh  Kelway!"  A  spectacled  face  glared  down 
upon  him  from  under  the  dripping  spikes  of  an 
umbrella. 

It  was  the  Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Water- 
bury,  Leigh  Kelway's  chief,  returning  from  his 
fishing  excursion. 

Meanwhile  Slipper,  in  the  ditch,  did  not  cease 
to  announce  that  "  Divil  so  pleasant  an  afthernoon 
ever  ye  seen  as  what  was  in  it ! " 


VI 

PHILIPPA'S  FOX-HUNT 

* 

NO  one  can  accuse  Philippa  and  me  of  having 
married  in  haste.  As-  a  matter  of  fact,  it 
was  but  little  under  five  years  from  that  autumn 
evening  on  the  river  when  I  had  said  what  is  called 
in  Ireland  "  the  hard  word,"  to  the  day  in  August 
when  I  was  led  to  the  altar  by  my  best  man,  and 
was  subsequently  led  away  from  it  by  Mrs.  Sinclair 
Yeates.  About  two  years  out  of  the  five  had  been 
spent  by  me  at  Shreelane  in  ceaseless  warfare  with 
drains,  eaveshoots,  chimneys,  pumps ;  all  those 
fundamentals,  in  short,  that  the  ingenuous  and  im- 
proving tenant  expects  to  find  established  as  a  basis 
from  which  to  rise  to  higher  things.  As  far  as 
rising  to  higher  things  went,  frequent  ascents  to 
the  roof  to  search  for  leaks  summed  up  my 
achievements  ;  in  fact,  I  suffered  so  general  a 
shrinkage  of  my  ideals  that  the  triumph  of  making 
the  hall-^oor  bell  ring  blinded  me  to  the  fact 
that  the  rat-holes  in  the  hall  floor  were  nailed 
up  with  pieces  of  tin  biscuit  boxes,  and  that 
the  casual  visitor  could,  instead  of  leaving  a  card, 
have  easily  written  his  name  in  the  damp  on  the 
walls. 

"3 


124     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Philippa,  however,  proved  adorably  callous  to 
these  and  similar  shortcomings.  She  regarded 
Shreelane  and  its  floundering,  foundering  menage 
of  incapables  in  the  light  of  a  gigantic  picnic  in 
a  foreign  land  ;  she  held  long  conversations  daily 
with  Mrs.  Cadogan,  in  'order,  as  'she  informed 
me,  to  acquire  the  language  ;  without  any  ulterior 
domestic  intention  she  engaged  kitchen-maids  be- 
cause of  the  beauty  of  their  eyes,  and  housemaids 
because  they  had  such  delightfully  picturesque  old 
mothers,  and  she  declined  to  correct  the  phra- 
seology of  the  parlour-maid,  whose  painful  habit  it 
was  to  whisper  "  Do  ye  choose  cherry  or  clarry  ?  " 
when  proffering  the  wine.  Fast-days,  perhaps, 
afforded  my  wife  her  first  insight  into  the  sterner 
realities  of  Irish  housekeeping.  Philippa  had  what 
are  known  as  High  Church  proclivities,  and  took 
the  matter  seriously. 

"  I  don't  know  how  we  are  to  manage  for  the 
servants'  dinner  to-morrow,  Sinclair,"  she  said, 
coming  in  to  my  office  one  Thursday  morning  ; 
"Julia  says  she  'promised  God  this  long  time 
that  she  wouldn't  eat  an  egg  on  a  fast-day,'  and 
the  kitchen-maid  says  she  won't  eat  herrings 
'  without  they're  fried  with  onions,'  and  Mrs. 
Cadogan  says  she  will  '  not  go  to  them  extremes 
for  servants.'  -' 

".I  should  let  Mrs.  Cadogan  settle  the  menu 
herself,"  I  suggested. 

"I  asked  her  to  .do  that,"  replied  Philippa, 
"  and  she  only  said  she  f  thanked  God  she  had 
no  appetite  ! '  " 


Philippe? s  Fox-Hunt  125 

The  lady  of  the  house  here  fell  away  into 
unseasonable  laughter. 

I  made  the  demoralising  suggestion  that,  as  we 
were  going  away  for  a  couple  of  nights,  we 
might  safely  leave  them  to  fight  it  out,  and  the 
problem  was  abandoned. 

Philippa  had  been  much  called  on  by  the 
neighbourhood  in  all  its  shades  and  grades,  and 
daily  she  arid  her  trousseau  frocks  presented 
themselves  at  hall-doors  of  varying  dimensions 
in  due  ackowledgment  of  civilities.  In  Ireland, 
it  may  be  noted,  the  process  known  in  England 
as  "  summering  and  wintering "  a  newcomer 
does  not  obtain  ;  sociability  and  curiosity  alike 
forbid  delay.  The  visit  to  which  we  owed  our 
escape  from  the  intricacies  of  the  fast-day  was 
to  the  Knoxes  of  Castle  Knox,  relations  in  some 
remote  and  tribal  way  of  my  landlord,  Mr.  Flurry 
of  that  ilk.  It  involved  a  short  journey  by  train, 
and  my  wife's  longest  basket-trunk ;  it  also,  which 
was  more  serious,  involved  my  being  lent  a  horse 
to  go  put  cubbing  the  following  morning.  _ 

At  Castle  Knox  we  sank  into  an  almost  forgotten 
environment  of  draught-proof  windows  and  doors, 
of  deep  carpets,  of  silent  servants  instead  of 
clattering  belligerents.  Philippa  told  me  after- 
wards that  it  had  only  been  by  an  effort  that 
she  had  restrained  herself  from  snatching  up  the 
train  of  her  wedding-gown  as  she  paced  across  the 
wide  hall  on  little  Sir  Valentine's  arm.  After  three 
weeks  at  Shreelane  she  found  it  difficult  to  remember 
that  the  floor  was  neither  damp  nor  dusty. 


126     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

I  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  of  the  limited  number 
of  those  who  got  on  with  Lady  Knox,  chiefly,  I 
imagine,  because  I  was  as  a  worm  before  her,  and 
thankfully  permitted  her  to  do  all  the  talking. 

"  Your  wife  is  extremely  pretty,"  she  pronounced 
autocratically,  surveying  Philippa  between  the 
candle-shades  ;  "  does  she  ride  ?  " 

Lady  Knox  was  a  short  square  lady,  with  a 
weather-beaten  face,  and  an  eye  decisive  from 
long  habit  of  taking  her  own  line  across  country 
and  elsewhere.  She  would  have  made  a  very 
imposing  little  coachman,  and  would  have  caused 
her  stable  helpers  to  rue  the  day  they  had  the 
presumption  to  be  born  ;  it  struck  me  that  Sir 
Valentine  sometimes  did  so. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  her  looks,"  I  replied,  "as 
I  fear  you  will  find  her  thoroughly  despicable 
otherwise ;  for  one  thing,  she  not  only  can't 
ride,  but^she  believes  that  I  can  !" 

"  Oh  come,  you're  not  as  bad  as  all  that  ! " 
my  hostess  was  good  enough  to  say ;  "I'm  going 
to  put  you  up  on  Sorcerer  to-morrow,  and  we'll 
see  you  at  the  top  of  the  hunt — if  there  is  one. 
That  young  Knox  hasn't  a  notion  how  to  draw 
these  woods." 

"Well,  the  best  run  we  had  last  year  out  of 
this  -place  was  with  Flurry's  hounds,"  struck  in 
Miss  Sally,  sole  daughter  of  Sir  Valentine's  house 
and  home,  from  her  place  half-way  down  the 
table.  It  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  she  and 
her  mother  held  different  views  on  the  subject 
of  Mr.  Flurry  Knox.  - 


Philippa's  Fox-Hunt  127 

"  I  call  it  a  criminal  thing  in  any  one's  great- 
great-grandfather  to  rear  up  a  preposterous  troop 
of  sons  and  plant  them  all  out  in  his  own  country," 
Lady  Knox  said  to  me  with  apparent  irrelevance. 
"  I  detest  collaterals.  Blood  may  be  thicker  than 
water,  but  it  is  also  a  great  deal  nastier.  In  this 
country  I  find  that  fifteenth  cousins  consider 
themselves  near  relations  if  they  live  within  twenty 
miles  of  one  ! " 

Having  before  now  taken  in  the  position  with 
regard  to  Flurry  Knox,  I  took  care  to  accept 
these  remarks  as  generalities,  and  turned  the 
conversation  to  other  themes. 

"  I  see  Mrs.  Yeates  is  doing  wonders  with  Mr. 
Hamilton,"  said  Lady  Knox  presently,  following 
the  direction  of  my  eyes,  which  had  strayed  away 
to  where  Philippa  was  beaming  upon  her  left-hand 
neighbour,  a  mildewed-looking  old  clergyman,  who 
was  delivering  a  long  dissertation,  the  purport 
of  which  we  were  happily  unable  to  catch. 

"  She  has  always  had  a  gift  for  the  Church,"  I  said. 

"Not  curates?"  said  Lady  Knox,  in  her  deep 
voice. 

I  made  haste  to  reply  that  it  was  the  elders  of 
the  Church  who  were  venerated  by  my  wife. 

"  Well,  she  has  her  fancy  in  old  Eustace 
Hamilton  ;  he's  elderly  enough  ! "  said  Lady  Knox. 
"  I  wonder  if  she'd  venerate  him  as  much  if  she 
knew  that  he  had  fought  with  his  sister-in-law,  and 
they  haven't  spoken  for  thirty  years  !  though  for 
the  matter  of  that,"  she  added,  "  I  think  it  shows 
his  good  sense  ! " 


128     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  Mrs.  Knox  is  rather  a  friend  of  mine,"  I 
ventured. 

"  Is  she  ?  H'm  !  Well,  she's  not  one  of  mine  !  " 
replied  my  hostess,  with  her  usual  definiteness. 
"  I'll  say  one  thing  for  her,  I  believe  she's  always 
been  a  sportswoman.  She's  very  rich,  you  know, 

and  they  say  she 
only  married  old 
Badger  Knox  to 
save  his  hounds 
from  being  sold 
to  pay  his  debts, 
and  then  shs  took 
the  horn  from 
him  and  hunted 
them  herself.  Has 
she  been  rude  to 
your  wife  yet? 
No?  Oh,  well, 
she  will.  It's  a 
mere,  question  of 
time.  She  hates 
all  English  people. 
You  know  the 
story  they  tell  ,of 

her  ?  She  was  coming  home  from  London,  and 
when  she  was  getting  her  ticket  the  man  asked  if 
she  had  said  a  ticket  for  York.  '  No,  thank  God, 
Cork  1 '  says  Mrs.  Knox." 

"  Well,  I  rather  agree  with  her  I "  said  I  ;  "  but 
why  did  she  fight  with  Mr.  Hamilton  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nobody  knows.     I  don't  believe  they  know 


LADY  KNOX 


Philippe? s  Fox-Hunt  129 

themselves  !  Whatever  it  was,  the  old  lady  drives 
five  miles  to  Fortwilliam  every  Sunday,  rather  than 
go  to  his  church,  just  outside  her  own  back  gates," 
Lady  Knox  said  with  a  laugh  like  a  terrier's  bark. 
"  I  wish  I'd  fought  with  him  myself,"  she  said  ; 
"  he  gives  us  forty  minutes  every  Sunday." 

As  I  struggled  into  my  boots  the  following  morn- 
ing, I  felt  that  Sir  Valentine's  acid  confidences  on 
cub-hunting,  bestowed  on  me  at  midnight,  did 
credit  to  his  judgment.  "  A  very  moderate  amuse- 
ment, my  dear  Major,"  he  had  said,  in  his  dry  little 
voice;  "you  should  stick  to  shooting.  No  one 
expects  you  to  shoot  before  daybreak." 

It  was  six  o'clock  as  I  crept  downstairs,  and 
found  Lady  Knox  and  Miss  Sally  at  breakfast, 
with  two  lamps  on  the  table,  and  a  foggy  daylight 
oozing  in  from  under  the  half-raised  blinds. 
Philippa  was  already  in  the  hall,  pumping  up  her 
bicycle,  in  a  state  of  excitement  at  the  prospect 
of  her  first  experience  of  hunting  that  would  have 
been  more  comprehensible  to  me  had  she  been 
going  to  ride  a  strange  horse,  as  I  was.  As  I 
bolted  my  food  I  saw  the  horses  being  led  past 
the  windows,  and  a  faint  twang  of  a  horn  told  that 
Flurry  Knox  and  his  hounds  were  not  far  off. 

Miss  Sally  jumped  up. 

"  If  I'm  not  on  the  Cockatoo  before  the  hounds 
come  up,  I  shall  never  get  there ! "  she  said, 
hobbling  out  of  the  room  in  the  toils  of  her  safety 
habit.  Her  small,  alert  face  looked  very  childish 
under  her  riding-hat ;  the  lamp-light  struck  sparks 
out  of  her  thick  coil  of  golden-red  hair  :  I  wondered 


130     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

how  I  had  ever  thought  her  like  her  prim  little 
father. 

She  was  already  on  her  white  cob  when  I  got 
to  the  hall-door,  and  Flurry  Knox  was  riding 
over  the  glistening  wet  grass  with  his  hounds, 
while  his  whip,  Dr.  Jerome  Hickey,  was  having  a 
stirring  time  with  the  young  entry  and  the  rabbit- 
holes.  They  moved  on  without  stopping,  up  a 
back  avenue,  under  tall  and  dripping  trees,  to  a 
thick  laurel  covert,  at  some  little  distance  from 
the  house.  Into  this  the  hounds  were  thrown, 
and  the  usual  period  of  fidgety  inaction  set  in 
for  the  riders,  of  whom,  all  told,  there  were 
about  half-a-dozen.  Lady  Knox,  square  and  solid, 
on  her  big,  confidential  iron-grey,  was  near  me, 
and  her  eyes  were  on  me  and  my  mount ;  with 
her  rubicund  face  and  white  collar  she  was  more 
than  ever  like  a  coachman. 

"  Sorcerer  looks  as  if  he  suited  you  well,"  she 
said,  after  a  few  minutes  of  silence,  during  which 
the  hounds  rustled  and  crackled  steadily  through 
the  laurels ;  "  he's  a  little  high  on  the  leg,  and 
so  are  you,  you  know,  so  you  show  each  other 
off." 

Sorcerer  was  standing  like  a  rock,  with  his  good- 
looking  head  in  the  air  and  his  eyes  fastened  on 
the  covert.  His  manners,  so  far,  had  been  those 
of  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  were  in  marked 
contrast  to  those  of  Miss  Sally's  cob,  who  was 
sidling,  hopping,  and  snatching  unappeasably  at 
his  bit.  Philippa  had  disappeared  from  view  down 
the  avenue  ahead.  The  fog  was  melting,  and  the 


Philippe? s  Fox-Hunt  131 

sun  threw  long  blades  of  light  through  the  trees ; 
everything  was  quiet,  and  in  the  distance  the 
curtained  windows  of  the  house  marked  the  warm 
repose  of  Sir  Valentine,  and  those  of  the  party  who 
shared  his  opinion  of  cubbing. 

"  Hark  !  hark  to  cry  there  1 " 

It  was  Flurry's  voice,  away  at  the  other  side  of 
the  covert.  The  rustling  and  brushing  through  the 
laurels  became  more  vehement,  then  passed  out  of 
hearing. 

"  He  never  will  leave  his  hounds  alone,"  said 
Lady  Knox  disapprovingly. 

Miss  Sally  and  the  Cockatoo  moved  away  in  a 
series  of  heraldic  capers  towards  the  end  of  the 
laurel  plantation,  and  at  the  same  moment  I  saw 
Philippa  on  her  bicycle  shoot  into  view  on  the 
drive  ahead  of  us. 

"I've  seen  a  fox!"  she  screamed,  white  with 
what  I  believe  to  have  been  personal  terror,  though 
she  says  it  was  excitement ;  "  it  passed  quite  close 
to  me  ! " 

"  What  way  did  he  go  ?  "  bellowed  a  voice  which 
I  recognised  as  Dr.  Hickey's,  somewhere  in  the 
deep  of  the  laurels. 

"  Down  the  drive  ! "  returned  Philippa,  with  a 
pea-hen  quality  in  her  tones  with  which  I  was  quite 
unacquainted. 

An  electrifying  screech  of  "  Gone  away  !  "  was 
projected  from  the  laurels  by  Dr.  Hickey. 

"Gone  away  !"  chanted  Flurry's  horn  at  the  top 
of  the  covert. 

"This  is  what   he    calls   cubbing!"    said    Lady 


132     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Knox,   "a  mere   farce!"   but  none  the  less  she 
loosed  her  sedate  monster  into  a  canter. 

Sorcerer    got    his    hind-legs    under    him,    and 


MISS  SALLY  AND  THE   COCKATOO   MOVED   AWAY 


hardened  his  crest  against  the  bit,  as  we  all  hustled 
along  the  drive  after  the  flying  figure  of  my  wife. 
I  knew  very  little  about  horses,  but  I  realised  that 


Philippas  Fox-Hunt  133 

even  with  the  hounds  tumbling  hysterically  out  of 
the  covert,  and  the  Cockatoo  kicking  the  gravel 
into  his  face,  Sorcerer  comported  himself  with  the 
manners  of  the  best  society.  Up  a  side  road  I  saw 
Hurry  Knox  opening  half  of  a  gate  and  cramming 
through  it ;  in  a  moment  we  also  had  crammed 
through,  and  the  turf  of  a  pasture  field  was  under 
our  feet.  Dr.  Hickey  leaned  forward  and  took 
hold  of  his  horse ;  I  did  likewise,  with  the  trifling 
difference  that  my  horse  took  hold  of  me,  and  I 
steered  for  Flurry  Knox  with  single-hearted  pur- 
pose, the  hounds,  already  a  field  ahead,  being 
merely  an  exciting  and  noisy  accompaniment  of 
this  endeavour.  A  heavy  stone  wall  was  the  first 
occurrence  of  note.  Flurry  chose  a  place  where 
the  top  was  loose,  and  his  clumsy-looking  brown 
mare  changed  feet  on  the  rattling  stones  like  a 
fairy.  Sorcerer  came  at  it,  tense  and  collected  as 
a  bow  at  full  stretch,  and  sailed  steeply  into  the 
air ;  I  saw  the  wall  far  beneath  me,  with  an  un- 
suspected ditch  on  the  far  side,  and  I  felt  my  hat 
following  me  at  the  full  stretch  of  its  guard  as  we 
swept  over  it,  then,  with  a  long  slant,  we  descended 
to  earth  some  sixteen  feet  from  where  we  had  left 
it,  and  I  was  possessor  of  the  gratifying  fact  that 
I  had  achieved  a  good-sized  "fly,"  and  had  not 
perceptibly  moved  in  my  saddle.  Subsequent  dis- 
illusioning experience  has  taught  me  that  but  few 
horses  jump  like  Sorcerer,  so  gallantly,  so  sympa- 
thetically, and  with  such  supreme  mastery  of  the 
subject ;  but  none  the  less  the  enthusiasm  that  he 
imparted  to  me  has  never  been  extinguished,  and 


134     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

that  October  morning  ride  revealed  to  me  the  un- 
suspected intoxication  of  fox-hunting. 

Behind  me  I  heard  the  scrabbling  of  the  Cocka- 
too's little  hoofs  among  the  loose  stones,  and  Lady 
Knox,  galloping  on  my  left,  jerked  a  maternal  chin 
over  her  shoulder  to  mark  her  daughter's  progress. 
For  my  part,  had  there  been  an  entire  circus 
behind  me,  I  was  far  too  much  occupied  with 
ramming  on  my  hat  and  trying  to  hold  Sorcerer, 
to  have  looked  round,  and  all  my  spare  faculties 
were  devoted  to  steering  for  Flurry,  who  had  taken 
a  right  -  handed  turn,  and  was  at  that  moment 
surmounting  a  bank  of  uncertain  and  briary  as- 
pect. I  surmounted  it  also,  with  the  swiftness  and 
simplicity  for  which  the  Quaker's  methods  of  bank 
jumping  had  not  prepared  me,  and  two  or  three 
fields,  traversed  at  the  same  steeplechase  pace, 
brought  us  to  a  road  and  to  an  abrupt  check. 
There,  suddenly,  were  the  hounds,  scrambling  in 
baffled  silence  down  into  the  road  from  the  oppo- 
site bank,  to  look  for  the  line  they  had  overrun, 
and  there,  amazingly,  was  Philippa,  engaged  in 
excited  converse  with  several  men  with  spades  over 
their  shoulders. 

"  Did  ye  see  the  fox,  boys  ? "  shouted  Flurry, 
addressing  the  group. 

"  We  did !  we  did  ! "  cried  my  wife  and  her 
friends  in  chorus  ;  "  he  ran  up  the  road  1 " 

"  We'd  be  badly  off  without  Mrs.  Yeates  ! "  said 
Flurry,  as  he  whirled  his  mare  round  and  clattered 
up  the  road  with  a  hustle  of  hounds  after  him. 

It  occurred  to  me  as  forcibly  as  any  mere  earthly 


Philippa  s  Fox-Hunt  135 

ihing  can  occur  to  those  who  are  wrapped  in  the 
sublimities  of  a  run,  that,  for  a  young  woman  who 
had  never  before  seen  a  fox  out  of  a  cage  at  the 
Zoo,  Philippa  was  taking  to  hunting  very  kindly. 
Her  cheeks  were  a  most  brilliant  pink,  her  blue 
eyes  shone. 

"  Oh,  Sinclair  ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  they  say  he's 
going  for  Aussolas,  and  there's  a  road  I  can  ride  all 
the  way  ! " 

"  Ye  can,  Miss !  Sure  we'll  show  you !"  chorussed 
her  cortege. 

Her  foot  was  on  the  pedal  ready  to  mount. 
Decidedly  my  wife  was  in  no  need  of  assistance 
from  me. 

Up  the  road  a  hound  gave  a  yelp  of  discovery, 
and  flung  himself  over  a  stile  into  the  fields  ;  the 
rest  of  the  pack  went  squealing  and  jostling  after 
him,  and  I  followed  Flurry  over  one  of  those  in- 
finitely varied  erections,  pleasantly  termed  "gaps" 
in  Ireland.  On  this  occasion  the  gap  was  made  of 
three  razor-edged  slabs  of  slate  leaning  against  an 
iron  bar,  and  Sorcerer  conveyed  to  me  his 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  matter  by  a  lift  of  his 
hind-quarters  that  made  me  feel  as  if  I  were  being 
skilfully  kicked  downstairs.  To  what  extent  I 
looked  it,  I  cannot  say,  nor  providentially  can 
Philippa,  as  she  had  already  started.  I  only  know 
that  undeserved  good  luck  restored  to  me  my 
stirrup  before  Sorcerer  got  away  with  me  in  the 
next  field. 

What  followed  was,  I  am  told,  a  very  fast  fifteen 
minutes ;  for  me  time  was  not ;  the  empty  fields 


136     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

rushed  past  uncounted,  fences  came  and  went  in  a 
flash,  while  the  wind  sang  in  my  ears,  and  the 
dazzle  of  the  early  sun  was  in  my  eyes.  I  saw  the 
hounds  occasionally,  sometimes  pouring  over  a 
green  bank,  as  the  charging  breaker  lifts  and  flings 


I  FELT   AS   IF   I   WERE   BEING   SKILFULLY   KICKED   DOWNSTAIRS 


itself,  sometimes  driving  across  a  field,  as  the  white 
tongues  of  foam  slide  racing  over  the  sand  ;  and 
always  ahead  of  me  was'  Flurry  Knox,  going  as  a 
man  goes  who  knows  his  country,  who  knows  his 
horse,  and  whose  heart  is  wholly  and  absolutely  in 
the  right  place. 


Phllippas  Fox-Hun t  137 

Do  what  I  would,  Sorcerer's  implacable  stride 
carried  me  closer  and  closer  to  the  brown  mare,  till, 
as  I  thundered  down  the  slope  of  a  long  field,  I  was 
not  twenty  yards  behind  Flurry.  Sorcerer  had 
stiffened  his  neck  to  iron,  and  to  slow  him  down 
was  beyond  me  ;  but  I  fought  his  head  away  to 
the  right,  and  found  myself  coming  hard  and 
steady  at  a  stonefaced  bank  with  broken  ground 
in  front  of  it.  Flurry  bore  away  to  the  left,  shout- 
ing something  that  I  did  not  understand.  That 
Sorcerer  shortened  his  stride  at  the  right  moment 
was  entirely  due  to  his  own  judgment ;  standing 
well  away  from  the  jump,  he  rose  like  a  stag  out  of 
the  tussocky  ground,  and  as  he  swung  my  twelve 
stone  six  into  the  air  the  obstacle  revealed  itself  to 
him  and  me  as  consisting  not  of  one  bank  but  of 
two,  and  between  the  two  lay  a  deep  grassy  lane, 
half  choked  with  furze.  I  have  often  been  asked 
to  state  the  width  of  the  bohereen,  and  can  only 
reply  that  in  my  opinion  it  was  at  least  eighteen 
feet ;  Flurry  Knox  and  Dr.  Hickey,  who  did  not 
jump  it,  say  that  it  is  not  more  than  five.  What 
Sorcerer  did  with  it  I  cannot  say ;  the  sensation 
was  of  a  towering  flight  with  a  kick  back  in  it, 
a  biggish  drop,  and  a  landing  on  cee-springs, 
still  on  the  downhill  grade.  That  was  how  one 
of  the  best  horses  in  Ireland  took  one  of  Ire- 
land's most  ignorant  riders  over  a  very  nasty 
place. 

A  sombre  line  of  fir-wood  lay  ahead,  rimmed 
with  a  grey  wall,  and  in  another  couple  of  minutes 
we  had  pulled  up  on  the  Aussolas  road,  and  were 


138     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

watching  the  hounds  struggling  over  the  wall  into 
Aussolas  demesne. 

"  No  hurry  now,"  said  Flurry,  turning  in  his 
saddle  to  watch  the  Cockatoo  jump  into  the  road, 
"he's  to  ground  in  the  big  earth  inside.  Well, 
Major,  it's  well  for  you  that's  a  big-jumped  horse. 
I  thought  you  were  a  dead  man  a  while  ago  when 
you  faced  him  at  the  bohereen  ! " 

I  was  disclaiming  intention  in  the  matter  when 
Lady  Knox  and  the  others  joined  us. 

"  I  thought  you  told  me  your  wife  was  no 
sportswoman,"  she  said  to  me,  critically  scanning 
Sorcerer's  legs  for  cuts  the  while,  "  but  when  I  saw 
her  a  minute  ago  she  had  abandoned  her  bicycle 
and  was  running  across  country  like " 

"  Look  at  her  now  ! "  interrupted  Miss  Sally. 
"  Oh  ! — oh  ! "  In  the  interval  between  these  ex- 
clamations my  incredulous  eyes  beheld  my  wife 
in  mid-air,  hand  in  hand  with  a  couple  of  stalwart 
country  boys,  with  whom  she  was  leaping  in  unison 
from  the  top  of  a  bank  on  to  the  road. 

Every  one,  even  the  saturnine  Dr.  Hickey,  began 
to  laugh  ;  I  rode  back  to  Philippa,  who  was  ex- 
changing compliments  and  congratulations  with 
her  escort. 

"  Oh,  Sinclair  ! "  she  cried,  "  wasn't  it  splendid  ? 
I  saw  you  jumping,  and  everything !  Where  are 
they  going  now  ?  " 

"  My  dear  girl,"  I  said,  with  marital  disapproval, 
"  you're  killing  yourself.  Where's  your  bicycle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  punctured  in  a  sort  of  lane,  back  there. 
It's  all  right ;  and  then  they " — she  breathlessly 


Philippas  Fox-Hunt  139 

waved  her  hand  at  her  attendants — "they  showed 
me  the  way." 

"  Begor  !  you  proved  very  good,  Miss  ! "  said  a 
grinning  cavalier. 

"  Faith  she  did  !"  said  another,  polishing  his  shin- 
ing brow  with  his  white  flannel  coat-sleeve,  "she 
lepped  like  a  haarse  ! " 

"  And  may  I  ask  how  you  propose  to  go  home  ?  " 
said  I. 

"  I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care  1  I'm  not  going 
home  1 "  She  cast  an  entirely  disobedient  eye  at 
me.  "And  your  eye-glass  is  hanging  down  your 
back  and  your  tie  is  bulging  out  over  your  waist- 
coat ! " 

The  little  group  of  riders  had  begun  to  move 
away. 

"  We're  going  on  into  Aussolas,"  called  out 
Flurry ;  "  come  on,  and  make  my  grandmother 
give  you  some  breakfast,  Mrs.  Yeates ;  she  always 
has  it  at  eight  o'clock." 

The  front  gates  were  close  at  hand,  and  we  turned 
in  under  the  tall  beech-trees,  with  the  unswept 
leaves  rustling  round  the  horses'  feet,  and  the 
lovely  blue  of  the  October  morning  sky  filling  the 
spaces  between  smooth  grey  branches  and  golden 
leaves.  The  woods  rang  with  the  voices  of  the 
hounds,  enjoying  an  untrammelled  rabbit  hunt, 
while  the  Master  and  the  Whip,  both  on  foot, 
strolled  along  unconcernedly  with  their  bridles  over 
their  arms,  making  themselves  agreeable  to  my  wife, 
an  occasional  touch  of  Flurry's  horn,  or  a  crack  of 
Dr.  Hickey's  whip,  just  indicating  to  the  pack  that 


140     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

the  authorities  still  took  a  friendly  interest  in  their 
doings. 

Down  a  grassy  glade  in  the  wood  a  party  of  old 
Mrs.  Knox's  young  horses  suddenly  swept  into 
view,  headed  by  an  old  mare,  who,  with  her  tail 
over  her  back,  stampeded  ponderously  past  our 
cavalcade,  shaking  and  swinging  her  handsome  old 
head,  while  her  youthful  friends  bucked  and  kicked 
and  snapped  at  each  other  round  her  with  the 
ferocious  humour  of  their  kind. 

"  Here,  Jerome,  take  the  horn,"  said  Flurry  to 
Dr.  Hickey  ;  "I'm  going  to  see  Mrs.  Yeates  up  to 
the  house,  the  way  these  tomfools  won't  gallop  on 
top  of  her." 

From  this  point  it  seems  to  me  that  Philippa's 
adventures  are  more  worthy  of  record  than  mine, 
and  as  she  has  favoured  me  with  a  full  account 
of  them,  I  venture  to  think  my  version  may  be 
relied  on. 

Mrs.  Knox  was  already  at  breakfast  when  Philippa 
was  led,  quaking,  into  her  formidable  presence. 
My  wife's  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Knox  was,  so  far, 
limited  to  a  state  visit  on  either  side,  and  she  found 
but  little  comfort  in  Flurry's  assurances  that  his 
grandmother  wouldn't  mind  if  he  brought  all  the 
hounds  in  to  breakfast,  coupled  with  the  statement 
that  she  would  put  her  eyes  on  sticks  for  the 
Major. 

Whatever  the  truth  of  this  may  have  been,  Mrs. 
Knox  received  her  guest  with  an  equanimity  quite 
unshaken  by  the  fact  that  her  boots  were  in  the 
fender  instead  of  on  her  feet,  and  that  a  couple  of 


Phitippa's  Fox-Hun t  141 

shawls  of  varying  dimensions  and  degrees  of  age  ' 
did  not  conceal  the  inner  presence  of  a  magenta 
flannel  dressing- jacket.  She  installed  Philippa  at 
the  table  and  plied  her  with  food,  oblivious  as 
to  whether  the  needful  implements  with  which  to 
eat  it  were  forthcoming  or  no.  She  told  Flurry 
where  a  vixen  had  reared  her  family,  and  she 
watched  him  ride  away,  with  some  biting  com- 
ments on  his  mare's  hocks  screamed  after  him 
from  the  window. 

The  dining-room  at  Aussolas  Castle  is  one  of  the 
many  rooms  in  Ireland  in  which  Cromwell  is  said 
to  have  stabled  his  horse  (and  probably  no  one 
would  have  objected  less  than  Mrs.  Knox  had  she 
been  consulted  in  the  matter).  Philippa  questions 
if  the  room  had  ever  been  tidied  up  since,  and  she 
endorses  Flurry's  observation  that  "  there  wasn't  a 
day  in  the  year  you  wouldn't  get  feeding  for  a  hen 
and  chickens  on  the  floor."  Opposite  to  Philippa, 
on  a  Louis  Quinze  chair,  sat  Mrs.  Knox's  woolly 
dog,  its  suspicious  little  eyes  peering  at  her  out  of 
their  setting  of  pink  lids  and  dirty  white  wool.  A 
couple  of  young  horses  outside  the  windows  tore  at 
the  matted  creepers  on  the  walls,  or  thrust  faces 
that  were  half-shy,  half-impudent,  into  the  room. 
Portly  pigeons  waddled  to  and  fro  on  the  broad 
window-sill,  sometimes  flying  in  to  perch  on  the 
picture-frames,  while  they  kept  up  incessantly  a 
hoarse  and  pompous  cooing. 

Animals  and  children  are,  as  a  rule,  alike  destruc- 
tive to  conversation  ;  but  Mrs.  Knox,  when  she 
chose,  bien  eviendu,  could  have  made  herself  agree- 


142     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

able  in  a  Noah's  ark,  and  Philippa  has  a  gilt  of 
sympathetic  attention  that  personal  experience  has 
taught  me  to  regard  with  distrust  as  well  as  respect, 
while  it  has  often  made  me  realise  the  worldly 
wisdom  of  Kingsley's  injunction  : 

"  Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever." 

Family  prayers,  declaimed  by  Mrs.  Knox  with 
alarming  austerity,  followed  close  on  breakfast, 
Philippa  and  a  vinegar-faced  henchwoman  forming 
the  family.  The  prayers  were  long,  and  through 
the  open  window  as  they  progressed  came  distantly 
a  whoop  or  two  ;  the  declamatory  tones  staggered 
a  little,  and  then  continued  at  a  distinctly  higher 
rate  of  speed. 

"  Ma'am  !  Ma'am  !  "  whispered  a  small  voice  at 
the  window. 

Mrs.  Knox  made  a  repressive  gesture  and  held 
on  her  way.  A  sudden  outcry  of  hounds  followed, 
and  the  owner  of  the  whisper,  a  small  boy  with  a 
face  freckled  like  a  turkey's  egg,  darted  from  the 
window  and  dragged  a  donkey  and  bath-chair  into 
view.  Philippa  admits  to  having  lost  the  thread  of 
the  discourse,  but  she  thinks  that  the  "Amen  "  that 
immediately  ensued  can  hardly  have  come  in  its 
usual  place.  Mrs.  Knox  shut  the  book  abruptly, 
scrambled  up  from  her  knees,  and  said,  "They've 
found !  " 

In  a  surprisingly  short  space  of  time  she  had 
added  to  her  attire  her  boots,  a  fur  cape,  and 
a  garden  hat,  and  was  in  the  bath-chair,  the 


Philippas  Fox-Hunt  143 

small  boy  stimulating  the  donkey  with  the  success 
peculiar  to  his  class,  while  Philippa  hung  on 
behind. 

The  woods  of  Aussolas  are  hilly  and  extensive, 
and  on  that  particular  morning  it  seemed  that  they 
held  as  many  foxes  as  hounds.  In  vain  was  the 
horn  blown  and  the  whips  cracked,  small  rejoicing 
parties  of  hounds,  each  with  a  fox  of  its  own, 
scoured  to  and  fro  :  every  labourer  in  the  vicinity 
had  left  his  work,  and  was  sedulously  heading 
every  fox  with  yells  that  would  have  befitted  a 
tiger  hunt,  and  sticks  and  stones  when  occasion 
served. 

"  Will  I  pull  out  as  far  as  the  big  rosydandhrum, 
ma'am  ?  "  inquired  the  small  boy  ;  "  I  seen  three  of 
the  dogs  go  in  it,  and  they  yowling." 

"  You  will/'  said  Mrs.  Knox,  thumping  the 
donkey  on  the  back  with  her  umbrella  ;  "  here ! 
Jeremiah  Regan !  Come  down  out  of  that  with 
that  pitchfork !  Do  you  want  to  kill  the  fox,  you 
fool?" 

"  I  do  not,  your  honour,  ma'am,"  responded 
Jeremiah  Regan,  a  tall  young  countryman,  emerging 
from  a  bramble  brake. 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Knox  eagerly. 

"  I  seen  himself  and  his  ten  pups  drinking 
below  at  the  lake  ere  yestherday,  your  honour, 
ma'am,  and  he  as  big  as  a  chestnut  horse !  "  said 
Jeremiah. 

"  Faugh  !  Yesterday  ! "  snorted  Mrs.  Knox  ;  "go 
on  to  the  rhododendrons,  Johnny  ! " 

The  party,  reinforced  by  Jeremiah  and  the  pitch- 


144     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

fork,  progressed  at  a  high  rate  of  speed  along  the 
shrubbery  path,  encountering  en  route  Lady  Knox, 
stooping  on  to  her  horse's  neck  under  the  sweeping 
branches  of  the  laurels. 

"  Your  horse  is  too  high  for  my  coverts,  Lady 
Knox/'  said  the  Lady  of  the!  Manor,  with  a  mali- 
cious eye  at  Lady  Knox's  flushed  face  and  dinged 
hat  ;  "  I'm  afraid  you  will  be  left  behind  like 
Absalom  when  the  hounds  go  away  !  " 

"  As  they  never  do  anything  here  but  hunt 
rabbits,"  retorted  her  ladyship,  "  I  don't  think  that's 
likely." 

Mrs.  Knox  gave  her  donkey  another  whack,  and 
passed  on. 

" Rabbits,  my   dear!"    she    said    scornfully   to' 
Philippa.       "  That's   all    she   knows   about   it.       I 
declare   it   disgusts   me   to   see   a   woman  of  that 
age   making  such    a    Judy   of    herself  !      Rabbits 
indeed  1 " 

Down  in  the  thicket  of  rhododendron  every- 
thing was  very  quiet  for  a  time.  Philippa  strained 
her  eyes  in  vain  to  see  any  of  the  riders  ;  the 
horn  blowing  and  the  whip  cracking  passed  on 
almost  out  of  hearing.  Once  or  twice  a  hound 
worked  through  the  rhododendrons,  glanced  at 
the  party,  and  hurried  on,  immersed  in  business. 
All  at  once  Johnny,  the  donkey  -  boy,  whispered 
excitedly  : 

"  Look  at  he  !  Look  at  he  ! "  and  pointed  to 
a  boulder  of  grey  rock  that  stood  out  among  the 
dark  evergreens.  A  big  yellow  cub  was  crouching 
on  it ;  he  instantly  slid  into  the  shelter  of  the 


'Philippa  s  Fox-Hunt  145 

bushes,  and  the  irrepressible  Jeremiah,  uttering 
a  rending  shriek,  plunged  into  the  thicket  after 
him.  Two  or  three  hounds  came  rushing  at  the 
sound,  and  after  this  Philippa  says  she  finds  some 
difficulty  in  recalling  the  proper  order  of  events  ; 
chiefly,  she  confesses,  because  of  the  wholly 
ridiculous  tears  of  excitement  that  blurred  her 
eyes. 

"  We  ran,"  she  said,  "  we  simply  tore,  and 
the  donkey  galloped,  and  as  for  that  old  Mrs. 
Knox,  she  was  giving  cracked  screams  to  the 
hounds  all  the  time,  and  they  were  screaming 
too  ;  and  then  somehow  we  were  all  out  on  the 
road  1 " 

What  seems  to  have  occurred  was  that  three 
couple  of  hounds,  Jeremiah  Regan,  and  Mrs. 
Knox's  equipage,  amongst  them  somehow  hustled 
the  cub  out  of  Aussolas  demesne  and  up  on  to  a 
hill  on  the  farther  side  of  the  road.  Jeremiah  was 
sent  back  by  his  mistress  to  fetch  Flurry,  and  the 
rest  of  the  party  pursued  a  thrilling  course  along 
the  road,  parallel  with  that  of  the  hounds,  who 
were  hunting  slowly  through  the  gorse  on  the 
hillside. 

"  Upon  my  honour  and  word,  Mrs.  Yeates, 
my  dear,  we  have  the  hunt  to  ourselves  1 "  said 
Mrs.  Knox  to  the  panting  Philippa,  as  they 
pounded  along  the  road.  "Johnny,  d'ye  see  the 
fox  ?  " 

"  I  do,  ma'am  ! "  shrieked  Johnny,  who  pos- 
sessed the  usual  field-glass  vision  bestowed  upon 
his  kind.  "  Look  at  him  over-right  us  on  the 

K 


146     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

hill  above  !  Hi  !  The  spotty  dog  have  him  ! 
No,  he's  gone  from  him  1  Gwan  out  o'  that ! " 
This  to  the  donkey,  with  blows  that  sounded  like 
the  beating  of  carpets,  and  produced  rather  more 
dust. 

They  had  left  Aussolas  some  half  a  mile  behind, 
when,  from  a  strip  of  wood  on  their  right,  the 
fox  suddenly  slipped  over  the  bank  on  to  the  road 
just  ahead  of  them,  ran  up  it  for  a  few  yards  and 
whisked  in  at  a  small  entrance  gate,  with  the  three 
couple  of  hounds  yelling  on  a  red-hot  scent,  not 
thirty  yards  behind.  The  bath-chair  party  whirled 
in  at  their  heels,  Philippa  and  the  donkey  consider- 
ably blown,  Johnny  scarlet  through  his  freckles, 
but  as  fresh  as  paint,  the  old  lady  blind  and  deaf 
to  all  things  save  the  chase.  The  hounds  went 
raging  through  the  shrubs  beside  the  drive,  and 
away  down  a  grassy  slope  towards  a  shallow  glen, 
in  the  bottom  of  which  ran  a  little  stream,  and  after 
them  over  the  grass  bumped  the  bath-chair.  At 
the  stream  they  turned  sharply  and  ran  up  the  glen 
towards  the  avenue,  which  crossed  it  by  means  of 
a  rough  stone  viaduct. 

•  tl  Ton  me  conscience,  he's  into  the  old  culvert ! " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Knox  ^  "  there  was  one  of  my 
hounds  choked  there  once,  long  ago  !  Beat  on  the 
donkey,  Johnny  ! " 

At  this  juncture  Philippa's  narrative  again  be- 
comes incoherent,  not  to  say  breathless.  She  is, 
however,  positive  that  it  was  somewhere  about  here 
that  the  upset  of  the  bath-chair  occurred,  but  she 
cannot  be  clear  as  to  whether  she  picked  up  the 


Philippa  s  Fox-Hun t  147 

donkey  or  Mrs.  Knox,  or  whether  she  herself  was 
picked  up  by  Johnny  while  Mrs.  Knox  picked  up 
the  donkey.  From  my  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Knox  I 
should  say  she  picked  up  herself  and  no  one  else. 
At  all  events,  the  next  salient  point  is  the  palpitating 
moment  when  Mrs.  Knox,  Johnny,  and  Philippa 
successively  applying  an  eye  to  the  opening  of 
the  culvert  by  which  the  stream  trickled  under 
the  viaduct,  while  five  dripping  hounds  bayed 
and  leaped  around  them,  discovered  by  more 
senses  than  that  of  sight  that  the  fox  was  in  it, 
and  furthermore  that  one  of  the  hounds  was  in 
it  too. 

"  There's  a  sthrong  grating  before  him  at  the  far 
end,"  said  Johnny,  his  head  in  at  the  mouth  of  the 
hole,  his  voice  sounding  as  if  he  were  talking  into  a 
jug,  "  the  two  of  them's  fighting  in  it ;  they'll  be 
choked  surely  ! " 

"  Then  don't  stand  gabbling  there,  you  little  fool, 
but  get  in  and  pull  the  hound  out  !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Knox,  who  was  balancing  herself  on  a  stone  in 
the  stream. 

"  I'd  be  in  dread,  ma'am,"  whined  Johnny. 

"  Balderdash  !  "  said  the  implacable  Mrs.  Knox. 
"  In  with  you  !  " 

I  understand  that  Philippa  assisted  Johnny  into 
the  culvert,  and  presume  that  it  was  in  so  doing 
that  she  acquired  the  two  Robinson  Crusoe  bare 
footprints  which  decorated  her  jacket  when  I  next 
met  her. 

"  Have  you  got  hold  of  him  yet,  Johnny  ? " 
cried  Mrs.  Knox  up  the  culvert. 


148     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  I  have,  ma'am,  by  the  tail,"  responded  Johnny's 
voice,  sepulchral  in  the  depths. 

"  Can  you  stir  him,  Johnny  ?  " 

"  I  cannot,  ma'am,  and  the  wather  is  rising 
in  it." 

"  Well,  please  God,  they'll  not  open  the  mill 
dam  1 "  remarked  Mrs.  Knox  philosophically  to 
Philippa,  as  she  caught  hold  of  Johnny's  dirty 
ankles.  "  Hold  on  to  the  tail,  Johnny  1 " 

She  hauled,  with,  as  might  be  expected,  no 
appreciable  result.  "  Run,  my  dear,  and  look  for 
somebody,  and  we'll  have  that  fox  yet  !  " 

Philippa  ran,  whither  she  knew  not,  pursued  by 
fearful  visions  of  bursting  mill-dams,  and  maddened 
foxes  at  bay.  As  she  sped  up  the  avenue  she  heard 
voices,  robust  male  voices,  in  a  shrubbery,  and 
made  for  them.  Advancing  along  an  embowered 
walk  towards  her  was  what  she  took  for  one  wild 
instant  to  be  a  funeral  ;  a  second  glance  showed 
her  that  it  was  a  party  of  clergymen  of  all  ages, 
walking  by  twos  and  threes  in  the  dappled  shade 
of  the  over-arching  trees.  Obviously  she  had 
intruded  her  sacrilegious  presence  into  a  Clerical 
Meeting.  She  acknowledges  that  at  this  awe- 
inspiring  spectacle  she  faltered,  but  the  thought 
of  Johnny,  the  hound,  and  the  fox,  suffocat- 
ing, possibly  drowning  together  in  the  culvert, 
nerved  her.  She  does  not  remember  what  she 
said  or  how  she  said  it,  but  I  fancy  she 
must  have  conveyed  to  them  the  impression 
that  old  Mrs.  Knox  was  being  drowned,  as 
she  immediately  found  herself  heading  a  charge 


Phi/ippas  Fox-Hunt  149 

of  the  Irish  Church  towards  the  scene  of 
disaster. 

Fate  has  not  always  used  me  well,  but  on  this 
occasion  it  was  mercifully  decreed  that  I  and 
the  other  members  of  the  hunt  should  be  privi- 
leged to  arrive  in  time  to  see  my  wife  and  her 
rescue  party  precipitating  themselves  down  the 
glen. 

"  Holy  Biddy ! "  ejaculated  Flurry,  "  is  she  running 
a  paper-chase  with  all  the  parsons  ?  But  look  ! 
For  pity's  sake  will  you  look  at  my  grandmother 
and  my  Uncle  Eustace  ?  " 

Mrs.  Knox  and  her  sworn  enemy  the  old  clergy- 
man, whom  I  had  met  at  dinner  the  night  before, 
were  standing,  apparently  in  the  stream,  tugging 
at  two  bare  legs  that  projected  from  a  hole  in 
the  viaduct,  and  arguing  at  the  top  of  their  voices. 
The  bath-chair  lay  on  its  side  with  the  donkey 
grazing  beside  it,  on  the  bank  a  stout  Archdeacon 
was  tendering  advice,  and  the  hounds  danced  and 
howled  round  the  entire  group. 

"  I  tell  you,  Eliza,  you  had  better  let  the 
Archdeacon  try,"  thundered  Mr.  Hamilton. 

"  Then  I  tell  you  I  will  not ! "  vociferated 
Mrs.  Knox,  with  a  tug  at  the  end  of  the 
sentence  that  elicited  a  subterranean  lament  from 
Johnny.  "Now  who  was  right  about  the  second 
grating  ?  I  told  you  so  twenty  years  ago  !  " 

Exactly  as  Philippa  and  her  rescue  party  arrived, 
the  efforts  of  Mrs.  Knox  and  her  brother-in-law 
triumphed.  The  struggling,  sopping  form  of 
Johnny  was  slowly  drawn  from  the  hole,  drenched, 


150     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

speechless,  but  clinging  to  the  stern  of  a  hound, 
who,  in  its  turn,  had  its  jaws  fast  in  the  hind- 
quarters of  a  limp,  yellow  cub. 

"  Oh,  it's  dead  !  "  wailed  Philippa,  "  I  did  think 
I  should  have  been  in  time  to  save  it ! " 

"  Well,  if  that  doesn't  beat  all  ! "  said  Dr. 
Hickey. 


VII 
A   MISDEAL 

'""PHE  wagonette  slewed  and  slackened  mysteri- 
1  ously  on  the  top  of  the  long  hill  above 
Drumcurran.  So  many  remarkable  things  had 
happened  since  we  had  entrusted  ourselves  to 
the  guidance  of  Mr.  Bernard  Shute  that  I  rose 
in  my  place  and  possessed  myself  of  the  brake, 
and  in  so  doing  saw  the  horses  with  their  heads 
hard  in  against  their  chests,  and  their  quarters 
jammed  crookedly  against  the  splashboard,  being 
apparently  tied  into  knots  by  some  inexplicable 
power. 

"  Some  one's  pulling  the  reins  out  of  my  hand  !  " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Shute. 

The  horses  and  pole  were  by  this  time  making 
an  acute  angle  with  the  wagonette,  and  the  groom 
plunged  from  the  box  to  their  heads.  Miss  Sally 
Knox,  who  was  sitting  beside  me,  looked  over  the 
edge. 

"  Put  on  the  brake  !  the  reins  are  twisted 
round  the  axle  1 "  she  cried,  and  fell  into  a  fit  of 
laughter. 

We  all — that  is  to  say,  Philippa,  Miss  Shute, 
Miss  Knox,  and  I — got  out  as  speedily  as  might 


152     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

be ;  but,  I  think,  without  panic  ;  Mr.  Shute  alone 
stuck  to  the  ship,  with  the  horses  struggling  and 
rearing  below  him.'  The  groom  and  I  contrived 
to  back  them,  and  by  so  doing  caused  the  reins 
to  unwind  themselves  from  the  axle. 

"  It  was  my  fault,"  said  Mr.  Shute,  hauling  them 
in  as  fast  as  we  could  give  them  to  him  ;  "  I  broke 
the  reins  yesterday,  and  these  are  the  phaeton 
ones,  and  about  six  fathoms  long  at  that,  and  I 
forgot  and  let  the  slack  go  overboard.  It's  all 
right,  I  won't  do  it  again." 

With  this  reassurance  we  confided  ourselves 
once  more  to  the  wagonette. 

As  we  neared  the  town  of  Drumcurran  the  fact 
that  we  were  on  our  way  to  a  horse  fair  became 
alarmingly  apparent.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine 
how  we  pursued  an  uninjured  course  through  the 
companies  of  horsemen,  the  crowded  carts,  the 
squealing  colts,  the  irresponsible  led  horses,  and, 
most  immutable  of  all  obstacles,  the  groups  of 
countrywomen,  with  the  hoods  of  their  heavy  blue 
cloaks  over  their  heads.  They  looked  like  nuns 
of  some  obscure  order ;  they  were  deaf  and  blind 
as  ramparts  of  sandbags  ;  nothing  less  callous  to 
human  life  than  a  Parisian  cabdriver  could  have 
burst  a  way  through  them.  Many  times  during 
that  drive  I  had  cause  to  be  thankful  for  the 
sterling  qualities  of  Mr.  Shute's  brake  ;  with  its  aid 
he  dragged  his  over-fed  bays  into  a  crawl  that 
finally,  and  not  without  injury  to  the  varnish,  took 
the  wagonette  to  the  Royal  Hotel.  Every  avail- 
able stall  in  the  yard  was  by  that  time  filled-  and  it 


A  Misdeal  153 

was  only  by  virtue  of  the  fact  that  the  kitchenmaid 
was  nearly  related  to  my  cook  that  the  indignant 
groom  was  permitted  to  stable  the  bays  in  a  den 
known  as  the  calf -house. 

That  I  should  have  lent  myself  to  such  an 
expedition  was  wholly  due  to  my  wife.  Since 
Philippa  had  taken  up  her  residence  in  Ireland 
she  had  discovered  a  taste  for  horses  that  was 
not  to  be  extinguished,  even  by  an  occasional 
afternoon  on  the  Quaker,  whose  paces  had  become 
harder  than  rock  in  his  many  journeys  to  Petty 
Sessions ;  she  had  also  discovered  the  Shutes, 
newcomers  on  the  outer  edge  of  our  vast  visit- 
ing district,  and  between  them  this  party  to  Drum- 
curran  Horse  Fair  had  been  devised.  Philippa 
proposed  to  buy  herself  a  hunter.  Bernard  Shute 
wished  to  do  the  same,  possibly  two  hunters, 
money  being  no  difficulty  with  this  fortunate  young 
man.  Miss  Sally  Knox  was  of  the  company,  and  I 
also  had  been  kindly  invited,  as  to  a  missionary 
meeting,  to  come,  and  bring  my  cheque-book. 
The  only  saving  clause  in  the  affair  was  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Flurry  Knox  was  to  meet  us  at  the  scene 
of  action. 

The  fair  was  held  in  a  couple  of  large  fields 
outside  the  town,  and  on  the  farther  bank  of  the 
Curranhilty  River.  Across  a  wide  and  glittering 
ford,  horses  of  all  sizes  and  sorts  were  splashing, 
and  a  long  row  of  stepping-stones  was  hopped,  and 
staggered,  and  scrambled  over  by  a  ceaseless 
variety  of  foot-passengers.  A  man  with  a  cart 
plied  as  a  ferry  boat,  doing  a  heavy  trade  among 


154     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

the  applewomen  and  vendors  of  "crubeens,"  alias 
pigs'  feet,  a  grisly  delicacy  peculiar  to  Irish  open- 
air  holiday-making,  and  the  July  sun  blazed  on 
a  scene  that  even  Miss  Cecilia  Shute  found  to 
be  almost  repayment  enough  for  the  alarms  of 
the  drive. 

"  As  a  rule,  I  am  so  bored  by  driving  that  I  find 
it  reviving  to  be  frightened,"  she  said  to  me,  as  we 
climbed  to  safety  on  a  heathery  ridge  above  the 
fields  dedicated  to  galloping  the  horses ;  "  but 
when  my  brother  scraped  all  those  people  off 
one  side  of  that  car,  and  ran  the  pole  into  the 
cart  of  lemonade  -  bottles,  I  began  to  wish  for 
courage  to  tell  him  I  was  going  to  get  out  and 
walk  home." 

"Well,  if  you  only  knew  it,"  said  Bernard,  who 
was  spreading  rugs  over  the  low  furze  bushes  in 
the  touching  belief  that  the  prickles  would  not 
come  through,  "the  time  you  came  nearest  to 
walking  home  was  when  the  lash  of  the  whip  got 
twisted  round  Nancy's  tail.  Miss  Knox,  you're  an 
authority  on  these  things — don't  you  think  it  would 
be  a  good  scheme  to  have  a  light  anchor  in  the 
trap,  and  when  the  horses  began  to  play  the  fool, 
you'd  heave  the  anchor  over  the  fence  and  bring 
them  up  all  standing  ?  " 

"They  wouldn't  stand  very  long/'  remarked  Miss 
Sally. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  returned  the  inventor ; 
"I'd  have  a  dodge  to  cast  them  loose,  with  the 
pole  and  the  splinter-bar." 

"You'd    never    see    them    again,"    responded 


A  Misdeal  155 

Miss  Knox  demurely,  "if  you  thought  that 
mattered." 

"  It  would  be  the  brightest  feature  of  the  case," 
said  Miss  Shute. 

She  was  surveying  Miss  Sally  through  her  pince- 
nez  as  she  spoke,  and  was,  I  have  reason  to 
believe,  deciding  that  by  the  end  of  the  day  her 
brother  would  be  well  on  in  the  first  stages  of  his 
fifteenth  love  affair. 

It  has  possibly  been  suspected  that  Mr.  Bernard 
Shute  was  a  sailor,  had  been  a  sailor  rather,  until 
within  the  last  year,  when  he  had  tumbled  into  a 
fortune  and  a  property,  and  out  of  the  navy,  in 
the  shortest  time  on  record.  His  enthusiasm  for 
horses  had  been  nourished  by  the  hirelings  of 
Malta,  and  other  resorts  of  her  Majesty's  ships, 
and  his  knowledge  of  them  was,  so  far,  bounded 
by  the  fact  that  it  was  more  usual  to  come  off 
over  their  heads  than  their  tails.  For  the  rest,  he 
was  a  clean-shaved  and  personable  youth,  with  a 
laugh  which  I  may,  without  offensive  intention, 
define  as  possessing  a  what-cheeriness  special  to 
his  profession,  and  a  habit,  engendered  no  doubt 
by  long  sojourns  at  the  Antipodes,  of  getting  his 
clothes  in  large  hideous  consignments  from  a  naval 
outfitter. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  fair  was  in  full 
swing.  Its  vortex  was  in  the  centre  of  the  field 
below  us,  where  a  low  bank  of  sods  and  earth  had 
been  erected  as  a  trial  jump,  with  a  yelling  crowd 
of  men  and  boys  at  either  end,  acting  instead  of 
the  usual  wings  to  prevent  a  swerve.  Strings  of 


156     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

reluctant  horses  were  scourged  over  the  bank  by 
dozens  of  willing  hands,  while  exhortation,  cheers, 
and  criticism  were  freely  showered  upon  each 
performance. 

"Give  the  knees  to  the  saddle,  boy,  and  leave 
the  heels  slack."  "That's  a  nice  horse.  He'd 
keep  a  jock  on  his  back  where  another'd  throw 
him!"  "Well  jumped,  begor !  She  fled  that 
fairly !""  as  an  ungainly  three-year-old  flounced 
over  the  bank  without  putting  a  hoof  on  it.  Then 
her  owner,  unloosing  his  pride  in  simile  after  the 
manner  of  his  race, 

"  Ah  ha  !  when  she  give  a  lep,  man,  she's  that 
free,  she's  like  a  hare  for  it ! " 

A  giggling  group  of  country  girls  elbowed  their 
way  past  us  out  of  the  crowd  of  spectators,  one 
of  the  number  inciting  her  fellows  to  hurry  on  to 
the  other  field  "  until  they'd  see  the  lads  galloping 
the  horses,"  to  which  another  responding  that 
she'd  "be  skinned  alive  for  the  horses,"  the  party 
sped  on  their  way.  We — i.e.  my  wife,  Miss  Knox, 
Bernard  Shute,  and  myself  —  followed  in  their 
wake,  a  matter  by  no  means  as  easy  as  it  looked. 
Miss  Shute  had  exhibited  her  wonted  intelli- 
gence by  remaining  on  the  hilltop  with  the 
"  Spectator " ;  she  had  not  reached  the  happy 
point  of  possessing  a  mind  ten  years  older  than 
her  age,  and  a  face  ten  years  younger,  without 
also  developing  the  gift  of  scenting  boredom  from 
afar.  We  squeezed  past  the  noses  and  heels  of 
fidgety  horses,  and  circumnavigated  their  atten- 
dant groups  of  critics,  while  half-trained  brutes  in 


A  Misdeal  157 

snaffles  bolted  to  nowhere  and  back  again,  and 
whinnying  foals  ran  to  and  fro  in  search  of  their 
mothers. 

A  moderate  bank  divided  the  upper  from  the 
lower  fields,  and  as  every  feasible  spot  in  it  was 
commanded  by  a  refusing  horse,  the  choice  of  a 
place  and  moment  for  crossing  it  required  judg- 
ment. I  got  Philippa  across  it  in  safety ;  Miss 
Knox,  though  as  capable  as  any  young  woman 
in  Ireland  of  getting  over  a  bank,  either  on  horse- 
back or  on  her  own  legs,  had  to  submit  to  the 
assistance  of  Mr.  Shute,  and  the  laws  of  dynamics 
decreed  that  a  force  sufficient  to  raise  a  bower 
anchor  should  hoist  her  seven  stone  odd  to  the 
top  of  the  bank  with  such  speed  that  she  landed 
half  on  her  knees  and  half  in  the  arms  of  her 
pioneer.  A  group  of  portentously  quiet  men 
stood  near,  their  eyes  on  the  ground,  their  hands 
in  their  pockets  ;  they  were  all  dressed  so  much 
alike  that  I  did  not  at  first  notice  that  Flurry 
Knox  was  among  them  ;  when  I  did,  I  perceived 
that  his  eyes,  instead  of  being  on  the  ground, 
were  sun-eying  Mr.  Shute  with  that  measure  of 
disapproval  that  he  habitually  bestowed  upon 
strange  men. 

"  You're  later  than  I  thought  you'd  be,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  a  horse  half  -  bought  for  Mrs.  Yeates. 
It's  that  old  mare  of  Bobby  Bennett's  ;  she  makes 
a  little  noise,  but  she's  a  good  mare,  and  you 
couldn't  throw  her  down  if  you  tried.  Bobby 
wants  thirty  pounds  for  her,  but  I  think  you 
might  get  her  for  less.  She's  in  the  hotel 


158     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

stables,   and   you   can   see  her  when   you  go   to 
lunch." 

We  moved  on  towards  the  rushy  bank  of  the 
river,  and  Philippa  and  Sally  Knox  seated  them- 
selves on  a  low  rock,  looking,  in  their  white 
frocks,  as  incongruous  in  that  dingy  preoccupied 

assemblage  as  the  dreamy 
meadow-sweet  and  purple 
spires  of  loosestrife  that 
thronged  the  river  banks. 
Bernard  Shute  had  been 
lost  in  the  shifting  maze 
of  men  and  horses,  who 
were,  for  the  most  part, 
galloping  with  the  blind 
fury  of  charging  bulls  ;  but 
presently,  among  a  party 
who  seemed  to  be  riding 
the  finish  of  a  race,  we 
descried  our  friend,  and  a 
second  or  two  later  he 
hauled  a  brown  mare  to 
standstill  in  front  of 


HER   GRANDSIRE    WAS   THE 
MOUNTAIN   HARE" 


a 

us. 


"  The  f  el  low's  asking  forty- 
five    pounds   for    her,"    he 

said  to  Miss  Sally  ;  ."  she's  a  nailer  to  gallop.     I 
don't  think  it's  too  much  ?  " 

•"  Her  grandsire  was  the  Mountain  Hare,"  said 
the  owner  of  the  mare,  hurrying  up  to  continue 
her  family  history,  "and  he  was  the  grandest 
horse  in  the  four  baronies.  He  was  forty-two 


A  Misdeal  159 

years  of  age  when  he  died,  and  they  waked  him 
the  same  as  ye'd  wake  a  Christian.  They  had 
whisky  and  porther — and  bread — and  a  piper 
in  it." 

"  Thim  Mountain  Hare  colts  is  no  great  things," 
interrupted  Mr.  Shute's  groom  contemptuously. 
"  I  seen  a  colt  once  that  was  one  of  his  stock, 
and  if  there  was  forty  men  and  their  wives,  and 
they  after  him  with  sticks,  he  wouldn't  lep  a  sod 
of  turf." 

"  Lep,  is  it  1 "  ejaculated  the  owner  in  a  voice 
shrill  with  outrage.  "You  may  lead  that  mare 
out  through  the  counthry,  and  there  isn't  a 
fence  in  it  that  she  wouldn't  go  up  to  it  as 
indepindent  as  if  she  was  going  to  her  bed,  and 
your  honour's  ladyship  knows  that  dam  well, 
Miss  Knox." 

"  You  want  too  much  money  for  her,  McCarthy," 
returned  Miss  Sally,  with  her  little  air  of  preter- 
natural wisdom. 

"  God  pardon  you,  Miss  Knox  1  Sure  a  lady 
like  you  knows  well  that  forty-five  pounds  is  no 
money  for  that  mare.  Forty-five  pounds  1 "  He 
laughed.  "  It'd  be  as  good  for  me  to  make  her 
a  present  to  the  gentleman  all  out  as  take  three 
farthings  less  for  her  !  She's  too  grand  entirely 
for  a  poor  farmer  like  me,  and  if  it  wasn't  for 
the  long  weak  family  I  have,  I  wouldn't  part  with 
her  under  twice  the  money." 

"  Three  fine  lumps  of  daughters  in  America 
paying  his  rent  for  him,"  commented  Flurry  in 
the  background.  "That's  the  long  weak  family  \ " 


1 60     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Bernard  dismounted  and  slapped  the  mare's  ribs 
approvingly. 

"  I  haven't  had  such  a  gallop  since  I  was  at 
Rio,"  he  said.  "What  do  you  think  of  her,  Miss 
Knox  ? "  Then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
"  I  like  her.  I  think  I  may  as  well  give  him  the 
forty-five  and  have  done  with  it ! " 

At  these  ingenuous  words  I  saw  a  spasm  of 
anguish  cross  the  countenance  of  McCarthy,  easily 
interpreted  as  the  first  pang  of  a  life-long  regret 
that  he  had  -not  asked  twice  the  money.  Flurry 
Knox  put  up  an  eyebrow  and  winked  at  me ; 
Mr.  Shute's  groom  turned  away  for  very  shame. 
Sally  Knox  laughed  with  the  deplorable  levity  of 
nineteen. 

Thus,  with  a  brevity  absolutely  scandalous  in 
the  eyes  of  all  beholders,  the  bargain  was  con- 
cluded. 

Flurry  strolled  up  to  Philippa,  observing  an 
elaborate  remoteness  from  Miss  Sally  and  Mr. 
Shute. 

"  I  believe  I'm  selling  a  horse  here  myself  to- 
day," he  said ;  "  would  you  like  to  have  a  look 
at  him,  Mrs.  Yeates  ?  " 

"  Oh,  are  you  selling,  Knox  ?  "  struck  in  Bernard, 
to  whose  brain  the  glory  of  buying  a  horse  had 
obviously  mounted  like  new  wine ;  "  I  want 
another,  and  I  know  yours  are  the  right  sort." 

"  Well,  as  you  seem  fond  of  galloping,"  said 
Flurry  sardonically,  "  this  one  might  suit  you." 

"  You  don't  mean  the  Moonlighter  ? "  said  Miss 
Knox,  looking  fixedly  at  him. 


A  Misdeal  161 

"  Supposing  I  did,  have  you  anything  to  say 
against  him  ?  "  replied  Flurry. 

Decidedly  he  was  in  a  very  bad  temper.  Miss 
Sally  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  gave  a  little 
shred  of  a  laugh,  but  said  no  more. 

In  a  comparatively  secluded  corner  of  the  field 
we  came  upon  Moonlighter,  sidling  and  fussing, 
with  flickering  ears,  his  tail  tightly  tucked  in 
and  his  strong  back  humped  in  a  manner  that 
boded  little  good.  Even  to  my  untutored  eye, 
he  appeared  to  be  an  uncommonly  good-looking 
animal,  a  well-bred  grey,  with  shoulders  that  raked 
back  as  far  as  the  eye  could  wish,  the  true  Irish 
jumping  hind-quarters,  and  a  showy  head  and 
neck  ;  it  was  obvious  that  nothing  except  Michael 
Hallahane's  adroit  chucks  at  his  bridle  kept  him 
from  displaying  his  jumping  powers  free  of  charge. 
Bernard  stared  at  him  in  silence  ;  not  the  pregnant 
and  intimidating  silence  of  the  connoisseur,  but 
the  tongue-tied  muteness  of  helpless  ignorance. 
His  eye  for  horses  had  most  probably  been 
formed  on  circus  posters,  and  the  advertisements 
of  a  well-known  embrocation,  and  Moonlighter 
approximated  in  colour  and  conduct  to  these 
models. 

"  I  can  see  he's  a  ripping  fine  horse,"  he  said 
at  length  ;  "\I  think  I  should  like  to  try  him." 

Miss  Knox  changed  countenance  perceptibly, 
and  gave  a  perturbed  glance  at  Flurry.  Flurry 
remained  impenetrably  unamiable. 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  judge  of  horses,"  went 
on  Mr.  Shute.  "  I  dare  say  I  needn't  teVL'you  that  !  " 

L 


1 62     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

with  a  very  engaging  smile  at  Miss  Sally  ;  "  but  I 
like  this  one  awfully." 

As  even  Philippa  said  afterwards,  she  would  not 
have  given  herself  away  like  that  over  buying  a 
reel  of  cotton. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  that  he's  really  the  sort 
of  horse  you  want  ?  "  said  Miss  Knox,  with  rather 
more  colour  in  her  face  than  usual ;  "  he's  only 
four  years  old,  and  he's  hardly  a  finished  hunter." 

The  object  of  her  philanthropy  looked  rather 
puzzled.  "  What  !  can't  "he  jump  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Is  it  jump  ? "  exclaimed  Michael  Hallahane, 
unable  any  longer  to  contain  himself  ;  "  is  it  the 
horse  that  jumped  five  foot  of  a  clothes  line  in 
Heffernan's  yard,  and  not  a  one  on  his  back 
but  himself,  and  didn't  leave  so  much  as  the 
thrack  of  his  hoof  on  the  quilt  that  was  hanging 
on  it  !  " 

"  That's  about  good  enough,"  said  Mr.  Shute,  with 
his  large  friendly  laugh  ;  "  what's  your  price,  Knox  ? 
I  must  have  the  horse  that  jumped  the  quilt  !  I'd 
like  to  try  him,  if  you  don't  mind.  "There  are  some 
jolly-looking  banks  over  there." 

"  My  price  is  a  hundred  sovereigns,"  said  Flurry; 
"  you  can  try  him  if  you  like." 

"  Oh,  don't  !  "  cried  Sally  impulsively  ;  but  Ber- 
nard's foot  was  already  in  the  stirrup.  "  I  call  it 
disgraceful  !  "  I  heard  her  say  in  a  low  voice  to  her 
kinsman — "  you  know  he  can't  ride." 

The  kinsman  permitted  himself  a  malign  smile. 
"  That's  his  look-out,"  he  said. 

Perhaps    the    unexpected    docility   with    which 


A  Misdeal  163 

Moonlighter  allowed  himself  to  be  manoeuvred 
through  the  crowd  was  due  to  Bernard's  thirteen 
stone ;  at  all  events,  his  progress  through  a  gate 
into  the  next  field  was  unexceptionable.  Bernard, 
however,  had  no  idea  of  encouraging  this  tran- 
quillity. He  had  come  out  to  gallop,  and  with- 
out further  ceremony  he  drove  his  'heels  into 
Moonlighter's  side,  and  took  the  consequences 
in  the  shape  of  a  very  fine  and  able  buck. 
How  he  remained  within  even  visiting  distance 
of  the  saddle  it  is  impossible  to  explain  ;  perhaps 
his  early  experience  in  the  rigging  stood  him 
in  good  stead  in  the  matter  of  hanging  on 
by  his  hands  ;  but,  however  preserved,  he  did 
remain,  and  went  away  down  the  field  at  what 
he  himself  subsequently  described  as  "  the  rate  of 
knots." 

Flurry  flung  away  his  cigarette  and  ran  to  a 
point  of  better  observation.  We  all  ran,  including 
Michael  Hallahane  and  various  onlookers,  and 
were  in  time  to  see  Mr.  Shute  charging  the  least 
advantageous  spot  in  a  hollow-faced  furzy  bank. 
Nothing  but  the  grey  horse's  extreme  activity  got 
the  pair  safely  over  ;  he  jumped  it  on  a  slant, 
changed  feet  in  the  heart  of  a  furze-bush,  and  was 
lost  to  view.  In  what  relative  positions  Bernard 
and  his  steed  alighted  was  to  us  a  matter  of  con- 
jecture ;  when  we  caught  sight  of  them  again, 
Moonlighter  was  running  away,  with  his  rider  still 
on  his  back,  while  the  slope  of  the  ground  lent 
wings  to  his  flight. 

"  That  young  gentleman  will  be  apt  to  be  killed," 


1 64     Some   "Experiences  of  an  Irish 

said  Michael  Hallahane  with  composure,  not  to  say 
enjoyment.  '  < 

"  He'll  be  into'  the  long  bog  with  him  pretty 
soon/'  said  Flurry,  his  keen  eye  tracking  the 
fugitive. 

"  Oh  !— I  thought  he  was  off  that  time  ! "  ex- 
claimed Miss  Sally,  with  a  gasp  in  which  consterna- 
tion and  amusement  were  blended.  "  There  !  He 
is  into  the  bog  !  " 

•  It  did  not  take  us  long  to  arrive  at  the  scene 
of  disaster,  to  which,  as  to  a  dog-fight,  other 
foot-runners  were  already  hurrying,  and  on  our 
arrival  we  found  things  looking  remarkably  un- 
pleasant for  Mr.  Shute  and  Moonlighter.  The 
latter  was  sunk  to  his  withers  in  the  sheet  of 
black  slime  into  which  he  had  stampeded  ;  the 
former,  submerged  to  the  waist  three  yards  further 
away  in  the  bog,  was  trying  to  drag  himself  to- 
wards firm  ground  by  the  aid  of  tussocks  of  wiry 
grass. 

"  Hit  him  1 "  shouted  Flurry.  «  Hit  him  !  he'll 
sink  if  he  stops  there  !  " 

Mr.  Shute  turned  on  his  adviser  a  face  stream- 
ing with  black  mud,  out  of  which  his  brown  eyes 
and  white  teeth  gleamed  with  undaunted  cheer- 
fulness. 

"  All  jolly  fine,"  he  called  back  ;  "  if  I  let  go  this 
grass  I'll  sink  too  !  " 

A  shout  of  laughter  from  the  male  portion  of  the 
spectators  sympathetically  greeted  this  announce- 
ment, and  a  dozen  equally  futile  methods  of  escape 
were  suggested.  Among  those  who  had  joined 


A  Misdeal  165 

us  was,  fortunately,  one  of  the  many  boys  who 
pervaded  the  fair  selling  halters,  and,  by  means  of 
several  of  these  knotted  together,  a  line  of  com- 
munication was  established.  Moonlighter,  who  had 
fallen  into  the  state  of  inane  stupor  in  which 
horses  in  his  plight  so  often  indulge,  was  roused 
to  activity  by  showers  of  stones  and  impreca- 
tions but  faintly  chastened  by .  the  presence  of 
ladies.  Bernard,  hanging  on  to  his  tail,  belaboured 
him  with  a  cane,  and,  finally,  the  reins  proving 
good,  the  task  of  towing  the  victims  ashore  was 
achieved. 

"He's" mine,  Knox,  you  know,"  were  Mr.  Shute's 
first  words  as  he  scrambled  to  his*  feet ;  "  he's  the 
best  horse  I  ever  got  across — worth  twice  the 
money  !  " 

"  Faith,  he's  aisy  plased  ! "  remarked  a  bystander. 

"Oh,  do  go  and  borrow  some  dry  clothes," 
interposed  Philippa  practically  ;  "  surely  there 
must  be  some  one " 

"There's  a  shop  in  the  town  where  he  can 
strip  a  peg  for  135.  9^.,"  said  Flurry  grimly;  "I 
wouldn't  care  myself  a'bout  the  clothes  you'd 
borrow  here  ! " 

The  morning  sun  shone  jovially  upon  Moon- 
lighter and  his  rider,  caking  momently  the  black 
bog  stuff  with  which  both  were  coated,  and  as 
the  group  disintegrated,  and  we  turned  to  go  back, 
every  man  present  was  pleasurably  aware  that 
the  buttons  of  Mr.  Shute's  riding  breeches  had 
burst  at  the  knee,  causing  a  large  triangular  hiatus 
above  his  gaiter. 


1 66     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"Well,"  said  Flurry  conclusively  to  me  as  we 
retraced  our  steps,  "  I  always  thought  the  fellow 
was  a  fool,  but  I  never  thought  he  was  such  a 
damned  fool." 

It  seemed  an  interminable  time  since  breakfast 
when  our  party,  somewhat  shattered  by  the  stirring 
events  of  the  morning,  found  itself  gathered  in 
an  upstairs  room  at  the  Royal  Hotel,  waiting  for 
a  meal  that  had  been  ordained  some  two  hours 
before.  The  air  was  charged  with  the  mingled 
odours  of  boiling  cabbage  and  frying  mutton  ; 
we  affected  to  speak  of  them  with  disgust,  but 
our  souls  yearned  to  them.  Female  ministrants, 
with  rustling  skirts  and  pounding  feet,  raced  along 
the  passages  with  trays  that  were  never  for  us, 
and  opening  doors  released  roaring  gusts  of 
conversation,  blended  with  the  clatter  of  knives 
and  forks,  and  still  we  starved.  Even  the  ginger- 
coloured  check  suit,  lately  labelled  "  The  Sandring- 
ham.  Wonderful  value,  165.  qd."  in  the  window 
of  Drumcurran's  leading  mart,  and  now  displayed 
upon  Mr.  Shute's  all  too  lengthy  limbs,  had  lost 
its  power  to  charm. 

"  Oh,  don't  tear  that  bell  quite  out  by  the  roots, 
Bernard,"  said  his  sister,  from  the  heart  of  a 
lamentable  yawn.  "  I  dare  say  it  only  amuses 
them  when  we  ring,  but  it  may  remind  them  that 
we  are  still  alive.  Major  Yeates,  do  you  or  do 
you  not  regret  the  pigs'  feet-?  " 

"  More  than  I  can  express,"  I  said,  turning  from 
the  window,  where  I  had  been  looking  down  at 
the  endless  succession  of  horses'  backs  and  men's 


A  Misdeal  167 

hats,  moving  in  two  opposing  currents  in  the 
street  below.  4i  I  dare  say  if  we  talk  about  them 
for  a  little  we  shall  feel  ill,  and  that  will  b'e  better 
than  nothing." 

At  this  juncture,  however,  a  heavy-laden  tray 
thumped  against  the  door,  and  our  .repast  was 
borne  into  the  room  by  a  hot  young  woman  in 
creaking  boots,  who  hoarsely  explained  that  what 
kept  her  was  waiting  on  the  potatoes,  and  that  the 
ould  pan  that  was  in  it  was  playing  Puck  with 
the  beefsteaks. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Shute,  as  she  began  to  try 
conclusions  between  a  blunt  knife  and  a  bullet- 
proof mutton  chop,  "  I  have  never  lived  in  the 
country  before,  but  I  have  always  been  given  to 
understand  that  the  village  inn  was  one  of  its 
chief  attractions."  She  delicately  moved  the  potato 
dish  so  as  to  cover  the  traces  of  a  bygone  egg, 
and  her  glance  lingered  on  the  flies  that  dragged 
their  way  across  a  melting  mound  of  salt  butter. 
"  I  like  local  colour,  but  I  don't  care  about  it  on 
the  tablecloth." 

"Well,  I'm  feeling  quite  anxious  about  Irish 
country  hotels  now,"  said  Bernard  ;  "  they're  getting 
so  civilised  and  respectable.  After  all,  when  you 
go  back  to  England  no  one  cares  a  pin  to  hear 
that  you've  been  done  up  to  the  knocker.  That 
don't  amuse  them  a  bit.  But  all  my  friends  are 
as  pleased  as  anything  when  I  tell  them  of  the 
pothouse  where  I  slept  in  my  clothes  rather  than 
face  the  sheets,  or  how,  when  I  complained  to 
the  landlady  next  day,  she  said,  '  Cock  ye  up ! 


1 68     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Wasn't  it-  his  Reverence  the  Dean  of  Kilcoe  had 
them  last  1 '  " 

We  smiled  wanly  ;  what  I  chiefly  felt  was  respect 
for  any  hungry  man  who  could  jest  in  presence  of 
such  a  meal. 

"All  this  time  my  hunter  hasnV been  bought," 
said  Philippa  presently,  leaning  back  in  her  chair, 
and  abandoning  the  unequal  contest  with  her  beef- 
steak. "  Who  is  Bobby  Bennett  ?  Will  his  horse 
carry  a  lady  ?" 

Sally  Knox  looked  at  me  and  began  to  laugh. 

"You  should  ask  Major  Yeates  about  Bobby 
Bennett,"  she  said. 

Confound  Miss  Sally  !  It  had  never  seemed 
worth  while  to  tell  Philippa  all"  that  story  about 
my  doing  up  Miss  Bobby  Bennett's  hair,  and  I 
sank  my  face  in  my  tumbler  of  stagnant  whisky- 
and-soda  to  conceal  the  colour  that  suddenly 
adorned  it.  Any  intelligent  man  will  understand 
that  it  was  a  situation  calculated  to  amuse  the 
ungodly,  but  without  any  real  fun  in  it.  I  ex- 
plained Miss  Bennett  as  briefly  as  possible,  and 
at  all  the  more  critical  points  Miss  Sally's  hazel- 
green  eyes  roamed  slowly  and  mercilessly  to- 
wards me. 

"  You  haven't  told  Mrs.  Yeates  that  she's  one  of 
the  greatest  horse-copers  in  the  country,"  she  said, 
when  I  had  got  through  somehow ;  "  she  can  sell 
you  a  very  good  horse  sometimes,  and  a  very  bad 
one  too,  if  she  gets  the  chance." 

"No  one  will  ever  explain  to  me,"  said  Miss 
Shute,  scanning  us  all  with  her  dark,  half-amused, 


A  Misdeal  169 

and  wholly  sophisticated  eyes,  "why  horse-coping 
is  more  respectable  than  cheating  at  cards.  I 
rather  respect  people  who  are  able  to  cheat  at 
cards ;  if  every  one  did,  it  would  make  whist  so 
much  more  cheerful ;  but  there  is  no  forgiveness 
for  dealing  yourself  the  right  card,  and  there  is 
no  condemnation  for  dealing  your  neighbour  a 
very  wrong  horse  !  " 

"  Your  neighbour  is  supposed  to  be  able  to  take 
care  of  himself,"  said  Bernard. 

"  Well,  why  doesn't  that  apply  to  card-players  ?  " 
returned  liis  sister ;  "  are  they  all  in  a  state  of 
helpless  innocence  ?  " 

"I'm  helplessly  innocent,"  announced  Philippa, 
"so  I  hope  Miss  Bennett  won't  deal  me  a  wrong 
horse." 

"Oh,  her  mare  is  one  of  the  right  ones,"  said 
Miss  Sally;  "she's  a  lovely  jumper,  and  her 
manners  are  the  very  best." 

The  door  opened,  and  Flurry  Knox  put  in  his 
head.  "Bobby  Bennett's  downstairs,"  he  said  to 
me  mysteriously. 

I  got  up,  not  without  consciousness  of  Miss 
Sally's  eye,  and  prepared  to  follow  him.  "You'd 
better  come  too,  Mrs.  Yeates,  to  keep  an  eye  on 
him.  Don't  let  him  give  her  more  than  thirty, 
and  if  he  gives  that  she  should  return  him  two 
sovereigns."  This  last  injunction  was  bestowed 
in  a  whisper  as  we  descended  the  stairs. 

Miss  Bennett  was  in  the  crowded  yard  of  the 
hotel,  looking  handsome  and  overdressed,  and  she 
greeted  me  with  just  that  touch  of  Auld  Lang 


1 70     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.  M. 

Syne  in  her  manner  that  I  could  best  have  dis- 
pensed with.  I  turned  to  the  business  in  hand 
without  delay.  The  brown  mare  was  led  forth 
from '  the  stable  and  paraded  for  our  benefit ; 
she  was  one  of  those  inconspicuous,  meritorious 
animals  about  whom  there  seems  nothing  par- 
ticular to  say,  and  I  felt  her  legs  and  looked 
hard  at  her  hocks,  and  was  not  much  the 
wiser. 

"  It's  no  use  my  saying  she  doesn't  make  a 
noise,"  said  Miss  Bobby,  "because  every  one  in 
the  country  will  tell  you  she  does.,  You  can  have 
a  vet.  if  you  like,  and  that's  the  only  fault  he 
can  find  with  her.  But  if  Mrs.  Yeates  hasn't 
hunted  before  now,  I'll  guarantee  Cruiskeen  as 
just  the  thing  for  her.  She's  really  safe  and 
confidential.  My  little  brother  Georgie  has  hunted 
her — you  remember  Georgie,  Major  Yeates  ?-— the 
night  of  the  ball,  you  know — and  he's  only  eleven. 
Mr.  Knox  can  tell  you  what  sort  she  is." 

"Oh,  she's  a  grand  mare,"  said  Mr.  Knox,  thus 
appealed  to ;  "  you'd  hear  her  coming  three  fields 
off  like  a  German  band  ! " 

"And  well  for  you  if  you  could  keep  within 
three  fiek^s  of  her  !"  retorted  JVIiss  Bennett.  "At 
all  events,  she's  not  like  the  hunter  you  sold  Uncle, 
that  used  to  kick  the  stars  as  soon  as  I  put  my  foot 
in  the  stirrup  ! " 

"  'Twas  the  size  of  the  foot  frightened  him,"  said 
Flurry. 

"  Do  you  know  how  Uncle  cured  him  ? "  said 
Miss  Bennett,  turning  her  back  on  her  adversary ; 


A  Misdeal  171 

"he  had  him  tied  head  and  tail  across  the  yard 
gate,  and  every  man  that  came  in  had  to  get 
over  his  back  1 " 

"That's  no  bad  one  !"  said  Flurry. 

Philippa  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  be- 
wilderment, while  the  badinage  continued,  swift 
and  unsmiling,  as  became  two  hierarchs  of  horse- 
dealing  ;  it  went  on  at  intervals  for  the  next  ten 
minutes,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  I  had  bought 
the  mare  for  thirty  pounds.  As  Miss  Bennett 
said  nothing  about  giving  me  back  two  of  them, 
I  had  not  the  nerve  to  suggest  it. 

After  this  Flurry  and  Miss  Bennett  went  away, 
and  were  swallowed  up  in  the  fair ;  we  .  re- 
turned to  our  friends  upstairs,  and  began  to 
arrange  about  getting  home.  This,  among 
other  difficulties,  involved  the  tracking  and 
capture  of  the  Shutes'  groom,  and  took  so  long 
that  it  necessitated  tea.  Bernard  and  I  had 
settled  to  ride  our  new  purchases  home,  and 
the  groom  was  to  drive  the  wagonette  —  an 
alteration  ardently  furthered  by  Miss  Shute.  The 
afternoon  was  well  advanced  when  Bernard  and 
I  struggled  through  the  turmoil  of  the  hotel 
yard  in  search  of  our  horses,  and,  the  hotel 
hostler  being  nowhere  to  be  found,  the  Shutes' 
man  saddled  our  animals  for  us,  and  then  with- 
drew, to  grapple  single-handed  with  the  bays  in 
the  calf-house. 

"Good  business  for  me,  that  Knpx  is  sending 
the  grey  horse  home  for  me,"  remarked  Bernard, 
as  his  new  mare  followed  him  tractably  out  of 


172     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

the  stall.  "  He'd  have  been  rather  a  handful  in 
this  hole  of  a  place." 

He  shoved  his  way  out  of  the  yard  in  front  of 
me,  seemingly  quite  comfortable  and  at  home  upon 
the  descendant  of  the  Mountain  Hare,  and  I  fol- 
lowed as  closely  as  drunken  carmen  and  shafts 
of  erratic  carts  would  permit.  Cruiskeen  evinced 
a  decided  tendency  to  turn  to  the  right  on  leaving 
the  yard,  but  she  took  my  leftward  tug  in  good 
part,  and  we  moved  on  through  the  streets  of 
Drumcurran  with  a  dignity  that  was  only  im- 
paired by  the  irrepressible  determination  of  Mr. 
Shute's  new  trousers  to  run  up  his  leg.  It 
was  a  trifle  disappointing  that  Cruiskeen  should 
carry  her  nose  in  the  air  like  a  camel,  but  I 
set  it  down  to  my  own  bad  hands,  and  to  that 
cause  I  also  imputed  her  frequent  desire  to 
stop,  a  desire  that  appeared  to  coincide  with 
every  fourth  or  fifth  public  -  house  on  the  line 
of  inarch.  Indeed,  at  the  last  corner  before  we 
left  the  town,  Miss  Bennett's  mare  and  I  had 
a  serious  difference  of  opinion,  in  the  course  of 
which  she  mounted  the  pavement  and  remained 
planted  in  front  of  a  very  disreputable  public- 
house,  whose  owner  had  been  before  me  several 
times  for  various  infringements  of  the  Licensing 
Acts.  Bernard  and  the  corner  -  boys  were  of 
course  much  pleased  ;  I  inwardly  resolved  to  let 
Miss  Bennett  know  how  her  groom  occupied  his 
time  in  Drumcurran. 

We  got  out  into  the  calm  of  the  country  roads 
without  further  incident,  and  I  there  discovered 


A  Misdeal 

that  Cruiskeen  was  possessed  of  a  dromedary 
swiftness  in  trotting,  that  the  action  was  about 
as  comfortable  as  the  dromedary's,  and  that  it 
was  extremely  difficult  to  moderate  the  pace. 

"  I  say  1     This  is  something  like  going  ! "   said 
Bernard,   cantering    hard    beside    me  with    slack 


SHE    MOUNTED   THE   PAVEMENT   IN   FRONT   OF   A   VERY 
DISREPUTABLE   PUBLIC-HOUSJ5 


rein   and  every  appearance  of  happiness.      "Do 
you  mean  to  keep  it  up  all  the  way  ?  " 

"You'd  better  ask  this  devil,"  I  replied,  hauling 
on  the  futile  ring  snaffle.  "Miss  Bennett  must 
have  an  arm  like  a  prize-fighter.  If  this  is  what 
she  calls  confidential,  I  don't  want  her  confi- 
dences." 


174    -Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

After  another  half-mile,  during  which  I  cursed 
Flurry  Knox,  and  registered  a  vow  that  Philippa 
should  ride  Cruiskeen  in  a  cavalry  bit,  we  reached 
the  cross-roads  at  which  Bernard's  way  parted 
from  mine.  Another  difference  of  opinion  be- 
tween my  wife's  hunter  and  me  here  took  place, 
this  time  on  the  subject  of  parting  from  our 
companion,  and  I  experienced  that  peculiar  in- 
ward sinking  that  accompanies  the  birth  of  the 
conviction  one  has  been  stuck.  There  were  still 
some  eight  miles  between  me  and  home,  but  I 
had  at  least  the  consolation  of  knowing  that  the 
brown  mare  would  easily  cover  it  in  forty  minutes. 
But  in  this  also  disappointment  awaited  me. 
Dropping  her  head  to  about  the  level  of  her 
knees,  the  mare  subsided  into  a  walk  as  slow 
as  that  of  the  slowest  cow,  and  very  similar  in 
general  style.  In  this  manner  I  progressed  for 
a  further  mile,  breathing  forth,  like  St.  Paul, 
threatenings  and  slaughters  against  Bobby  Bennett 
and  all  her  confederates ;  and  then  the  idea 
occurred  to  me  that  many  really  first-class  hunters 
were  very  poor  hacks.  I  consoled  myself  with 
this  for  a  further  period,  and  presently  an  oppor- 
tunity for  testing  it  presented  itself.  The  road 
made  #  long  loop  round  the  flank  of  a  hill,  and 
it  was  possible  to  save  half  a  mile  or  so  by  get- 
ting into  the  fields.  It  was  a  short  cut  I  had 
often  taken  on  the  Quaker,  and  it  involved  nothing 
more  serious  than  a  couple  of  low  stone  "gaps" 
and  an  infantine  bank.  I  turned  Cruiskeen  at 
the  first  of  these.  She  was  evidently  surprised. 


A  Misdeal  175 

Being  in  an  excessively  bad  temper,  I  beat  her 
in  a  way  that  surprised  her  even  more,  and  she 
jumped  the  stones  precipitately  and  with  an  ease 
that  showed  she  knew  quite  well  what  she  was 
about.  I  vented  some  further  emotion  upon  her 
by  the  convenient  medium  of  my  cane,  and  gal- 
loped her  across  the  field  and  over  the  bank, 
which,  as  they  say  in  these  parts,  she  "  fled " 
without  putting  an  iron  on  it.  It  was  not  the 
right  way  to  jump  it,  but  it  was  inspiriting,  and 
when  she  had  disposed  of  the  next  gap  without 
hesitation  my  waning  confidence  in  Miss  Bennett 
began  to  revive.  I  cantered  over  the  ridge  of 
the  hill,  and  down  it  towards  the  cottage  near 
which  I  was  accustomed  to  get  out  on  to  the 
road  again.  As  I  neared  my  wonted  opening  in 
the  fence,  I  saw  that  it  had  been  filled  by  a 
stout  pole,  well  fixed  into  the  bank  at  each  end, 
but  not  more  than  three  feet  high.  Cruiskeen 
pricked  her  ears  at  it  with  intelligence  ;  I  trotted 
her  at  it,  and  gave  her  a  whack. 

Ages  afterwards  there  was  some  one  speaking 
on  the  blurred  edge  of  a  dream  that  I  was  dreaming 
about  nothing  in  particular.  I  went  on  dream- 
ing, and  was  impressed  by  the  shape  of  a  fat  jug, 
mottled  white  and  blue,  that  intruded  itself  pain- 
fully, and  I  again  heard  voices,  very  urgent  and  full 
of  effort,  but  quite  outside  any  concern  of  mine. 

I  also  made  an  effort  of  some  kind ;  I  was 
doing  my  very  best  to  be  good  and  polite,  but  I 
was  dreaming  in  a  place  that  whirred,  and  was 
engrossing,  and  daylight  was  cold  and  let  in  some 


ij6     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

unknown  unpleasantness.  For  that  time  the  dream 
got  the  better  of  the  daylight,  and  then,  apropos 
of  nothing,  I  was  standing  up  in  a  Jiouse  with 
some  one's  arm  round  me;  the  mottled -jug  was 
there,  so  was  the  unpleasantness,  and  I  was  talking 
with  most  careful,  old-world  politeness. 

"Sit  down  now,  you're  all  right,"  said  Miss 
Bobby  Bennett,  who  was  mopping  my  face  with 
a  handkerchief  dipped  in  the  jug. 

I  perceived  that  I  was  asking  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

"She  fell  over  the  stick  with  you,"  said  Miss 
Bennett;  "the  dirty  brute!" 

With  another  great  effort  I  hoo'ked  myself  on 
to  the  march  of  events,  as  a  truck  is  dragged  out  of 
a  siding  and  hooked  to  a  train. 

"  Oh,  the  Lord  save  us  ! "  said  a  grey-haired 
woman  who  held  the  jug,  "  ye're  desthroyed  en- 
tirely, asthore  I  Oh,  glory  be  to  the  merciful 
will  of  God,  me  heart  lepped  across  me  shesht 
when  I  seen  him  undher  the  horse  !" 

"Go  out  and  see  if  the  trap's  coming,"  said 
Miss  Bennett;  "he  should  have  found  the  doctor 
by  this."  She*  stared  very  closely  at  my  face, 
and  seemed  to  find  it  easier  to  talk  in  short 
sentences. 

"We  must  get  those  cuts  looking  better  before 
Mrs.  Yeates  comes." 

After  an  interval,  during  which  unexpected  places 
in  my  head  ached  from  the  cold  water,  the 
desire  to  be  polite  and  coherent  again  came 
upon  me. 


A  Misdeal 


177 


"  I  am  sure  it  was  not  your  mare's  fault,"  I 
said.  ' . 

Miss  Bennett  laughed  a  very  little.  I  was  glad 
to  see  her  laugh  j  it  had  struck  me  her  face  was 
strangely  haggard  and  frightened. 

(t  Well,   of    course   it   wasn't    poor   Cruiskeen's 


THE   GREY-HAIRED    WOMAN 


fault,"  she  said.     "  She's   nearly   home  with   Mr. 
Shute  by  now.     That's  why  I  came  after  you  ! " 

"Mr.  Shute!"  I  said  ;  "wasn't  he  at  the  fair 
that  day  ?  " 

"  He  was,"  answered  Miss  Bobby,  looking  at 
me  with  very  compassionate  eyes ;  "  you  and  he 
got  on  each  other's  horses  by  mistake  at  the  hotel, 
and  you  got  the  worst  of  the  exchange  1 " 

M 


178     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  Oh  I"  I  said,  without  even  trying  to  under- 
stand. 

"  He's  here  within,  your  honour's  ladyship,  Mrs. 
Yeates,  ma'am,"  shouted  the  grey-haired  woman 
at  the  door ;  "  don't  be  unaisy,  achudth ;  he's 
doing  grand.  Sure,  I'm  telling  Miss  Binnitt  if 
she  was  his  wife  itself,  she  couldn't  give  him 
betther  care  ! " 

The  grey-haired  woman  laughed. 


VIII 
THE  HOLY  ISLAND 

FOR  three  days  of  November  a  white  fog  stood 
motionless  over  the  country.  All  day  and  all 
night  smothered  booms  and  bangs  away  to  the 
south-west  told  that  the  Fastnet  gun  was  hard 
at  work,  and  the  sirens  of  the  American  liners 
uplifted  their  monstrous  female  voices  as  they 
felt  their  way  along  the  coast  of  Cork.  On  the 
third  afternoon  the  wind  began  to  whine  about 
the  windows  of  Shreelane,  and  the  barometer 
fell  like  a  stone.  At  n  P.M.  the  storm  rushed 
upon  us  with  the  roar  and  the  suddenness  of  a 
train  ;  the  chimneys  bellowed,  the  tall  old  house 
quivered,  and  the  yelling  wind  drove  against  it,  as 
a  man  puts  his  shoulder  against  a  door  to  burst 
it  in. 

We  none  of  us  got  much  sleep,  and  if  Mrs. 
Cadogan  is  to  be  believed — which  experience 
assures  me  she  is  not — she  spent  the  night^  in 
devotional  exercises,  and  in  ministering  to  the 
panic-stricken  kitchen-maid  by  the  light  of  a 
Blessed  candle.  All  that  day  the  storm  screamed 
on,  dry-eyed ;  at  nightfall  the  rain  began,  and 
next  morning,  which  happened  to  be  Sunday, 


i8o     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

every  servant  in  the  house  was  a  messenger  of 
Job,  laden  with  tales  of  leakages,  floods,  and 
fallen  trees,  and  inflated  with  the  •"ill-concealed 
glory  of  their  kind  in  evil  tidings.  To  Peter 
Cadogan,  who  had  been  to  early  Mass,  was 
reserved  the  crowning  satisfaction  of  reporting 
that  a  big  vessel  had  gone  on  the  rocks  at 
Yokahn  Point  the  evening  before,  and  was  break- 
ing up  fast ;  it  was  rumoured  that  the  crew  had 
got  ashore,  but  this  feature,  being  favourable  and 
uninteresting,  was  kept  as  much  as  possible  in 
the  background.  Mrs.  Cadogan,  who  had  been 
to  America  in  an  ocean  liner,  became  at  once 
the  latest  authority  on  shipwrecks,  and  was  of 
opinion  lhat  "whoever  would  be  dhrownded,  it 
wouldn't  be  thim  lads  o'  sailors.  Sure  wasn't 
there  the  greatest  storm  ever  was  in  it  the  time 
meself  was  on  the  say,  and  what'd  thim  fellows 
do  but  to  put  us  below  entirely  in  the  ship,  and 
close  down  the  doors  on  us,  the  way  theirselves'd 
leg  it  when  we'd  be  dhrownding  1 " 

This  view  of  the  position  was  so  startlingly 
novel  that  Philippa  withdrew  suddenly  from  the 
task  of  ordering  dinner,  and  fell  up  the  kitchen 
stairs  in  unsuitable  laughter.  Philippa  has  not 
the  most  rudimentary  capacity  for  keeping  her 
countenance. 

That  afternoon  I  was  wrapped  in  the  slumber, 
balmiest  and  most  profound,  that  follows  on  a 
wet  Sunday  luncheon,  when  Murray,  our  D.I. 
of  police,  drove  up  in  uniform,  and  came  into 
the  house  on  the  top  of  a  gust  that  set  every 


The  Holy  Island  181 

door  banging  and  every  picture  dancing  on  the 
walls.  He  looked  as  if  his  eyes  had  been  blown 
out  of  his  head,  and  he  wanted  something  to  eat 
very  badly. 

"  I've  been  down  at  the  wreck  since  ten  o'clock 
this  morning,"  he  said,  "  waiting  for  her  to  break 
up,  and  once  she  does  there'll  be  trouble.  She's 
an  American  ship,  and  she's  full  up  with  rum, 
and  bacon,  and  butter,  and  all  sorts.  Bosanquet 
is  there  with  all  his  coastguards,- and  there  are 
five  hundred  country  people  on  the  strand  at 
this  moment,  waiting  for  the  fun  to  begin.  I've 
got  ten  of  my  fellows  there,  and  I  wish  I  had  as 
many*  more.  You'd .  better  come  back  with  me, 
Yeates,  we  may  want  the  Riot  Act  before  all's 
done  ! " 

The  heavy  rain  had  ceased,  but  it  seemed  as 
if  it  had  fed  the  wind  instead  of  calming  it,  and 
when  Murray  and  I  drove  out  of  Shreelane,  the 
whole  dirty  sky  was  moving,  full  sailed,  in  from 
the  south-west,  and  the  telegraph  wires  were 
hanging  in  a  loop  from  the  post  outside  the 
gate.  Nothing  except  a  Skebawn  car-horse  would 
have  faced  the  whooping  charges  of  the  wind 
that  came  at  us  across  Corran  Lake  ;  stimulated 
mysteriously  by  whistles  from  the  driver,  Murray's 
yellow  hireling  pounded  woodenly  along  against 
the  blast,  till  the  smell  of  the  torn  sea-weed  was 
borne  upon  it,  and  we  saw  the  Atlantic  waves  come 
towering  into  the  bay  of  Tralagough. 

The  ship  was,  or  had  been,  a  three-masted 
barque  ;  two  of  her  masts  were  gone,  and  her 


1 82     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

bows  stood  high  out  of  water  on  the  reef  that 
forms  one  of  the  shark-like  jaws  of  the  bay. 
The  long  strand  was  crowded  with  black  groups 
of  people,  from  the  bank  of  heavy  shingle  that 
had  been  hurled  over  on  to  the  road,  down  to 
the  slope  where  the  waves  pitched  themselves 
and  climbed  and  fought  and  tore  the  gravel  back 
with  them,  as  though  they  had  dug  their  fingers 
in.  The  people  were  nearly  all  men,  dressed 
solemnly  and  hideously  in  their  Sunday  clothes  ; 
most  of  them  had  come  straight  from  Mass  with- 
out any  dinner,  true  to  that  Irish  instinct  that 
places  its  fun  before  its  food.  That  the  wreck 
was  regarded  as  a  spree  of  the  largest  kind  was 
sufficiently  obvious.  Our  car  pulled  up  at  a 
public-house  that  stood  askew  between ;  the  road 
and  the  shingle ;  it  was  humming  with  those 
whom  Irish  publicans  are  pleased  to  call  "  Bona 
feeds,"  and  sundry  of  the  same  class  were  clustered 
round  the  door.  Under  the  wall  on  the  lee- 
side  was  seated  a  bagpiper,  droning  out  "  The 
Irish  Washerwoman  "  with  nodding  head  and  tap- 
ping heel,  and  a  young  man  was  cutting  a  few 
steps  of  a  jig  for  the  delectation  of  a  group  of 
girls. 

So  far  Murray's  constabulary  had  done  nothing 
but  exhibit  their  imposing  chest  measurement  and 
spotless  uniforms  to  the  Atlantic,  and  Bosan- 
quet's  coastguards  had  only  salvaged  some  spars, 
the  debris  of  a  boat,  and  a  dead  sheep,  but  their 
time  was  coming.  As  we  stumbled  down  over 
the  shingle,  battered  by  the  wind  and  pelted 


The  Holy  Island  183 

by  clots  of  foam,  some  one  beside  me  shouted, 
"  She's  gone  ! "  A  hill  of  water  had  smothered 
the  wreck,  and  when  it  fell  from  her  again  nothing 
was  left  but  the  bows,  with  the  bowsprit  hang- 
ing from  them  in  a  tangle  of  rigging.  The 
clouds,  bronzed  by  an  unseen  sunset,  hung  low 
over  her ;  in  that  greedy  pack  of  waves,  with 
the  remorseless  rocks  above  and  below  her, 
she  seemed  the  most  lonely  and  tormented  of 
creatures. 

About  half-an-hour  afterwards  the  cargo  began 
to  come  ashore  on  the  top  of  the  rising  tide. 
Barrels  were  plunging  and  diving  in  the  trough 
of  the  waves,  like  a  school  of  porpoises  j  they 
were  pitched  up  the  beach  in  waist-deep  rushes 
of  foam  ;  they  rolled  down  again,  and  were  swung 
up  and  shouldered  by  the  next  wave,  playing  a 
kind  of  Tom  Tiddler's  ground  with  the  coast- 
guards. Some  of  the  barrels  were  big  and 
dangerous,  some  were  small  and  nimble  like 
young  pigs,  and  the  bluejackets  were  up  to  their 
middles  as  their  prey  dodged  and  ducked,  and 
the  police  lined  out  along  the  beach  to  keep  back 
the  people.  Ten  men  of  the  R.I.C.  can  do  a 
great  deal,  but  they  cannot  be  in  more  than 
twenty  or  thirty  places  at  the  same  instant  ; 
therefore  they  could  hardly  cope  with  a  scattered 
and  extremely  active  mob  of  four  or  five  hun- 
dred, many  of  whom  had  taken  advantage  of 
their  privileges  as  "  bona-fide  travellers,"  and 
all  of  whom  were  determined  on  getting  at  the 
rum. 


1 84     Some   'Experiences  of  an  Irish 

As  the  dusk  fell  the  thing  got  more  and  more 
out  of  hand  ;  the  people  had  found  out  that  the 
big  puncheons  held  the  Turn,  and  had  succeeded 
in  capturing  one.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
it  was  broached,  and  fifty  backs  were  shov- 
ing round  it  like  a  football  scrummage.  I  have 
heard  many  rows  in  my  time  :  I  have  seen  two 
Irish  regiments  —  one  of  them  Militia  —  at  each 
other's  throats  in  Fermoy  barracks  ;  I  have  heard 
Philippa's  water  spaniel  and  two  fox-terriers  hunt- 
ing a  strange  cat  round  the  dairy ;  but  never 
have  I  known  such  untrammelled  bedlam  as  that 
which  yelled  round  the  rum-casks  on  Tralagough 
strand.  For  it  was  soon  not  a  question  of  one 
broached  cask,  or  even  of  two.  The  barrels  were 
coming  in  fast,  so  fast  that  it  was  impossible 
for  the  representatives  of  law  and  order  to  keep 
on  any  sort  of  terms  with  them.  The  people, 
shouting  with  laughter,  stove  in  the  casks,  and 
drank  rum  at  34°  above  proof,  out  of  their  hands, 
out.  of  their  hats,  out  of  their  boots.  Women 
came  fluttering  over  the  hillsides  through  the 
twilight,  carrying  jugs,  milk-pails,  anything  that 
would  hold  the  liquor  ;  I  saw  one  of  them,  roar- 
ing* with  laughter,  tilt  a  filthy  zinc  bucket  to  an 
old  man's  lips. 

With  the  darkness  came  anarchy.  The  rising 
tide  brought  more  and  yet'  more  .booty  :  great 
spars  came  lunging  in  on  the  lap  of  the  waves, 
mixed  up  with  cabin  furniture,  seamen's  chests, 
and  the  black  and  slippery  barrels,  and  the  country 
people  continued  to  flock  in,  and  the  drinking 


The  Holy  Island  185 

became  more  and  more  unbridled.  Murray  sent 
for  more  men  and  a  doctor,  and  we  slaved  on 
hopelessly  in  the  dark,  collaring  half -drunken 
men,  shoving  pig-headed  casks  up  hills  of  ^hingle, 
hustling  in  among  groups  of .  roaring  drinkers — 


OUT   OF  THEIR   BOOTS 


we  rescued  perhaps  one  barrel  in  half-a-dozen. 
I  began  to  know  that  there  were  men  there  who 
were  not  drunk  and  were  not  idle ;  I  was  also 
aware,  as  the  strenuous  hours  of  darkness  passed, 
of  an  occasional  rumble  of  cart  wheels  on  the 


1 86     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

road.  It  was  evident  that  the  casks  which  were 
broached  were  the  least  part  of  the  looting,  but 
even  they  were  beyond  our  control.  The  most 
that  Bosanquet,  Murray,  and  I  could  do  was  to 
concentrate  our  forces  on  the  casks  that  had  been 
secured,  and  to  organise  charges  upon  the  swil- 
ling crowds  in  order  to  upset  the  casks  that  they 
had  broached.  Already  men  and  boys  were 
lying  about,  limp  as  leeches,  motionless  as  the 
dead. 

"They'll  kill  themselves  before  morning,  at  this 
rate  ! "  shouted  Murray  to  me.  "  They're  drinking 
it  by  the  quart !  Here's  another  barrel ;  come 
on!" 

We  rallied  our  small  forces,  and  after  a  brief  but 
furious  struggle  succeeded  in  capsizing  it.  It 
poured  away  in  a  flood  over  the  stones,  over  the 
prostrate  figures  that  sprawled  on  them,  and  a 
howl  of  reproach  followed. 

"  If  ye  pour  away  any  more  o'  that,  Major,"  said 
an  unctuous  voice  in  my  ear,  "ye'll  intoxicate  the 
stones  and  they'll  be  getting  up  and  knocking 
us  down  I " 

I  had  been  aware  of  a  fat  shoulder  next  to  mine 
in  the  throng  as  we  heaved  the  puncheon  over, 
and  I  now  recognised  the  ponderous  wit  and 
Falstaffian  figure  of  Mr.  James  Canty,  a  noted 
member  of  the  Skebawn  Board  of  Guardians, 
and  the  owner  of  a  large- farm  nearat  hand. 

"  I  never  saw  worse  work  on  this  strand,"  he 
went  on.  "  I  considher  these  debaucheries  a 
disgrace  to  the  counthry." 


The  Holy  Island  187 

Mr.  Canty  was  famous  a§  an  orator,  and  I 
presume  that  it  was  from  long  practice  among 
his  fellow  P.L.G.'s  that  he  was  able,  without 
apparent  exertion,  to  out-shout  the  storm. 

At  this  juncture  the  long-awaited  reinforcements 
arrived,  and  along  with  them  came  Dr.  Jerome 
Hickey,  armed  with  a  black  bag.  Having  men- 


MR.   JAMES   CANTY 


tioned  that  the  bag  contained  a  pump — not  one 
of  the  common  or  garden  variety — and  that  no 
pump  on  board  a  foundering  ship  had  more 
arduous  labours  to  perform,  I  prefer  to  pass  to 
other  themes.  The  wreck,  which  had  at  first 
appeared  to  be  as  inexhaustible  and  as  variously 
stocked  as  that  in  the  "Swiss  Family  Robinson," 


1 88     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

was  beginning  to  fail  in  its  supply.  The  crowd 
were  by  this  time  for  the  most  part  incapable  from 
drink,  and  the  fresh  contingent  of  police  tackled 
their  work  with  some  prospect  of  success  by  the 
light  of  a  tar  barrel,  contributed  by  the  owner 
of  the  public-house.  At  about  the  same  time  I 
began  to  be  aware  that  I  was  -aching  with  fatigue, 
that  my  clothes  hung  heavy  and  soaked  upon  me, 
that  my  face  was  stiff  with  the  salt  spray  and  the 
bitter  wind,  and  that  it  was  two  hours  past  dinner- 
time. The  possibility  of  fried  salt  herrings  and 
hot  whisky  and  water  at  the  public-house  rose 
dazzlingly  before  my  mind,  when  Mr.  Canty  again 
crossed  my  path. 

"  In  my  opinion  ye  have  the  whole  cargo  under 
conthrol  now,  Major,"  he  said,  "and  the  police 
and  the  sailors  should  be  able  to  account  for  it 
all  now  by  the  help  of  the  light.  Wasn't  I  the 
finished  fool  that  I  didn't  think  to  send  up  to  my 
house  for  a  tar  barrel  before  now  !  Well — we're 
all  foolish  sometimes  1  But  indeed  it's  time  for  us 
to  give  over,  and  that's  what  I'm  after  saying  to  the 
Captain  and  Mr.  Murray.  You're  exhausted  now 
the  three  of  ye,  and  if  I  might  make  so  bold,  I'd 
suggest  that  ye'd  come  up  to  my  little  place  and 
have  what'd  warm  ye  before  ye'd  go  home.  It's 
only  a  few  perches  up  the  road." 

The  tide  had  turned,  the  rain  had  begun  again, 
and  the  tar  barrel  illumined  the  fact  that  Dr. 
Hickey's  dreadful  duties  alone  were  pressing.  We 
held  a  council  and  finally  followed  Mr.  Canty, 
picking  our  way  through  wreckage  of  all  kinds, 


The  Holy  Island  189 

including  the  human  variety.  Near  the  public- 
house  I  stumbled  over  something  that  was  soft  and 
had  a  squeak  in  it ;  it  was  the  piper,  with  his 
head  and  shoulders  in  an  overturned  rum-barrel, 
and  the  bagpipes  still  under  his  arm. 

I  knew  the  outward  appearance  of  Mr.  Canty's 
house  very  well.  It  was  a  typical  southern  farm- 
house, with  dirty  whitewashed  walls,  a  slated  roof, 
and  small,  hermetically  -  sealed  windows  staring 
at  the  morass  of  manure  which  constituted  the 
yard.  We  followed  Mr.  Canty  up  the  filthy  lane 
that  led  to  it,  picked  our  way  round  vague  and 
squelching  spurs  of  the  manure  heap,,  and  were1 
finally  led  through  the  kitchen  into  a  stifling  best 
parlour.  Mrs.  Canty,  a  vast  and  slatternly  matron, 
had  evidently  made  preparations  for  us ;  there  was 
a  newly-lighted  fire  pouring  flame  up  the  chimney 
from  layers  of  bogwood,  there  were  whisky  and 
brandy  on  the  table,  and  a  plateful  of  biscuits 
sugared  in  white  and  pink.  Upon  our  hostess  was 
a  black  silk  dress  which  indifferently  concealed  the 
fact  that  she  was  short  of  boot-laces,  and  that 
the  boots  themselves  had  made  many  excursions 
to  the  yard  and  none  to  the  blacking-bottle.  Her 
manners,  however,  were  admirable,  and  while  I 
live  I  shall  not  forget  her  potato  cakes.  They 
came  in  hot  and  hot  from  a  pot-oven,  they  were 
speckled  with  caraway  seeds,  they  swam  in  salt 
butter,  and  we  ate  them  shamelessly  and  greasily, 
and  washed  them  down  with  hot  whisky  and 
water  ;  I  knew  to  a  nicety  how  ill  I  should  be  next 
day,  and  heeded  not. 


190     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  remarked  Mr.  Canty  later 
on,  in  his  best  Board  of  Guardians'  manner,  "  I've 
seen  many  wrecks  between  this  and  the  Mizen 
Head,  but  I  never  witnessed  a  scene  of  more  dis- 
graceful ex-cess  than  what  was  in  it  to-night." 

"  Hear,  hear ! "  murmured  Bosanquet  with  un- 
seemly levity. 

"  I  should  say,"  went  on  Mr.  Canty,  "  there  was 
at  one  time  to-night  upwards  of  one  hundhred  men 
dead  dhrunk  on  the  strand,  or  anyway  so  dhrunk 
that  if  they'd  attempt  to  spake  they'd  foam  at  the 
mouth." 

"The  crayturesi"  interjected  Mrs.  Canty  sym- 
pathetically. 

"But  if  they're  dhrunk  to-day,"  continued  our 
host,  "it's  nothing  at  all  to  what  they'll  be  to- 
morrow and  afther  to-morrow,  and  it  won't  be  on 
the  strand  they'll  be  dhrinkin'  it." 

"Why,  where  will  it  be  ?"  said  Bosanquet,  with 
his  disconcerting  English  way  of  asking  a  point  - 
blank  question. 

Mr.  Canty  passed  his  hand  over  his  red  cheeks. 

"  There'll  be  plenty  asking  that  before  all's  said 
and  done,  Captain,"  he  said,  with  a  compas- 
sionate smile,  "and  there'll  be  plenty  that  could 
give  the  answer  if  they'll  like,  but  by  dam  I 
don't  think  ye'll  be  apt  to  get  much  out  of  the 
Yokahn  boys  I" 

"The  Lord  save  us,  'twould  be  better  to  keep 
out  from  the  likes  o'  thim  ! "  put  in  Mrs.  Canty, , 
sliding  a  fresh  avalanche  of  potato  cakes  on  to  the 
dish  ;  "  didn't  they  pull  the  clothes  off  the  gauger 


The  Holy  Island 

and  pour  potheen  down  his  throath  till  he  ran 
screeching  through  the  streets  o'  Skebawn  t  " 

James  Canty  chuckled. 

"  I  remember  there  was  a  wreck  here  one  time, 
and  the  undherwriters  put  me  in  charge  of  the 
cargo.  Brandy  it  was  —  cases  of  the  best  Frinch 
brandy.  The  people  had  a  song  about  it,  what's 
this  the  first  verse  was  — 


"  One  night  to  the  rocks  of  Yokahn 
Came  the  barque  Isabella  so  dandy, 
To  pieces  she  went  before  dawn, 
Herself  and  her  cargo  of  brandy, 
And  all  met  a  wathery  grave 
Excepting  the  vessel's  car/<r«ther, 
Poor  fellow,  so  far  from  his  home." 


Mr.  Canty  chanted  these  touching  lines  in  a 
tuneful  if  wheezy  tenor.  "Well,  gentlemen,  we're 
all  friends  here,"  he  continued,  "and  it's  no  harm 
to  mention  that  this  man  below  at  the  public-house 
came  askin'  me  would  I  let  him  have  some  of  it 
for  a  consideration.  'Sullivan,'  says  I  to  him, 
'if  ye  ran  down  gold  in  a  cup  in  place  of  the 
brandy,  I  wouldn't  give  it  to  you.  Of  coorse,' 
says  I,  '  I'm  not  sayin'  but  that  if  a  bottle  was  to 
get  a  crack  of  a  stick,  and  it  to  be  broken,  and 
a  man  to  drink  a  glass  out  of  it,  that  would  be 
no  more  than  an  accident.'  'That's  no  good  to 
me,'  says  he,  'but  if  I  had  twelve  gallons  of  that 
brandy  in  Cork/  says  he,  '  by  the  Holy  German  1  ' 
says  he,  saying  an  awful  curse,  '  I'd  sell  twenty-five 
out  of  it  1  '  Well,  indeed,  it  was  true  for  him  ;  it 


192     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

was  grand  'stuff.  As  the  saying  is,  it  would  make  a 
horse  out  of  a  cow  1 " 

"  It  appears  to  be  a  handy  sort  of  place  for 
keeping  a  pub/'  said  Bosanquet. 

"Shut  to  the  door,  Margaret,"  said  Mr.  Canty 
with  elaborate  caution.  -"  It'd  be  a  queer  place  that 
wouldn't  be  handy  for  Sullivan  I " 

A  further  tale  of  great  length  was  in  progress 
when  Dr.  Hickey's  Mephistophelian  nose  was  poked 
into  the  best  parlour. 

" Hullo,  Hickeyl  Pumped  out?  eh?"  said 
Murray. 

"  If  I  am,  there's  plenty  more  like  me,"  replied 
the  Doctor  enigmatically,  "  and  some  of  them  three 
times  over  1  James,  did  these  gentlemen  leave  you 
a  drop  of  anything  that  you'd  offer  me  ?  " 

"  Maybe  ye'd  like  a  glass  of  rum,  Doctor  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Canty  with  a  wink  at  his  other  guests. 

Dr.  Hickey  shuddered, 

I  had  next  morning  precisely  the  kind  of  mouth 
that  I  had  anticipated,  and  it'  being  my  duty  to 
spend  the  better  part  of  the  day  administering 
justice  in  Skebawn,  I  received  from  Mr.  Flurry 
Knox  and  other  of  my  brother  magistrates  pre- 
cisely the  class  of  condolences  on  my  "Monday 
head  "  that  I  found  least  amusing.  It  was  unavail- 
ing to  point  out  the  resemblance  between  hot 
potato  cakes  and  molten  lead,  or  to  dilate  on 
their  equal  power  of  solidifying ;  the  collective 
wisdom  of  the  Bench  decided  that  I  was  suffer- 
ing from  contraband  rum,  and  rejoiced  over  me 
accordingly. 


Holy  Island  193 

During  the  next  three  weeks  Murray  and  Bosan- 
quet  put  in  a  time  only  to  be  equalled  by  that 
of  the  heroes  in  detective  romances.  They  began 
by  acting  on  the  hint  offered  by  Mr.  Canty,  and 
were  rewarded  by  finding  eight  barrels  of  bacon 
and  three  casks  of  rum  in  the  heart  of  Mr. 
Sullivan's  turf  rick,  placed  there,  so  Mr.  Sullivan 
explained  with  much  detail,  by  enemies,  with  the 
object  of  getting  his  licence  taken  away.  They 
stabbed  potato  gardens  with  crowbars  to  find  the 
buried  barrels,  they  explored  the  chimneys,  they 
raided  the  cow-houses ;  and  in  every  possible  and 
impossible  place  they  found  some  of  the  cargo 
of  the  late  barque  John  D.  Williams,  and,  as 
the  sympathetic  Mr.  Canty  said,  "  For  as  much  as 
they  found,  they  left  five  times  as  much  afther 
them  1 " 

It  was  a  wet,  lingering  autumn,  but  towards  the 
end  of  November  the  rain  dried  up,  the  weather 
stiffened,  and  a  week  of  light  frosts  and  blue  skies 
was  offered  as  a  tardy  apology.  Philippa  pos- 
sesses, in  common  with  many  of  her  sex,  an  in- 
appeasable  passion  for  picnics,  and  her  ingenuity 
for  devising  occasions  for  them  is  only  equalled 
by  her  gift  for  enduring  their  rigours..  I  have 
seen  her  tackle  a  moist  chicken  pie  with  a  splinter 
of  slate  and  my  stylograph  .pen.  I  have  known 
her  to  take  the  tea-basket  to  an  auction,  and 
make  tea  in  a  four-wheeled  inside  car,  regardless 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  coming  under  the  hammer 
in  ten  minutes,  and  that  the  kettle  took  twenty 
minutes  to  boil.  It  will  therefore  be  readily  under- 

N 


194     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

stood  that  the  rare  occasions  when  I  was  free  to 
go  out  with  a  gun  were  not  allowed  to  pass  un- 
celebrated by  the  tea-basket. 

"You'd  much  better  shoot  Corran  Lake  to- 
morrow," my  wife  said  to  me  one  brilliant  after- 
noon. "We  could  send  the  punt  over,  and  I 
could  meet  you  on  Holy  Island  with " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  concerned  with 
ways,  means,  and  the  tea-basket,  and  need  not  be 
recorded.- 

I  had  taken  the  shooting  of  a  long  snipe  bog 
that  trailed  from  Corran  Lake  almost  to  the  sea 
at  Tralagough,  and  it  was  my  custom  to  begin 
to  shoot  from  the  seaward  end  of  it,  and  finally 
to  work  round  the  lake  after  duck. 

To-morrow  proved  a  heavenly  morning,  touched 
with  frost,  gilt  with  sun.  I  started  early,  and  the 
mists  were  still  smoking  up  from  the  calm,  all- 
reflecting  lake,  as  the  Quaker  stepped  out  along 
the  level  road,  smashing  the  thin  ice  on  the 
puddles  with  his  big  feet.  Behind  the  calves  of 
my  legs  sat  Maria,  Philippa's  brown  Irish  water- 
spaniel,  assiduously  licking  the  barrels  of  my  gun, 
as  was  her  custom  when  the  ecstasy  of  going  out 
shooting  was  hers.  Maria  had  been  given  to 
Philippa  as  a  wedding-present,  and  since  then  it 
had  been  my  wife's  ambition  that  she  should 
conform  to  the  Beth  Gelert  standard  of  being 
"a  lamb  at  home,  a  lion  in  the  chasei"  Maria 
did  pretty  well  as  a  lion  :  she  hunted  all  dogs 
unmistakably  smaller  than  herself,  and  whenever 
it  was  reasonably  possible  to  do  so  she  devoured 


The  Holy  Island  195 

the  spoils  of  the  chase,  notably  jack  snipe.  It 
was  as  a  lamb  that  she  failed ;  objectionable  as  I 
have  no  doubt  a  lamb  would  be  as  a  domestic 
pet,  it  at  least  would  not  snatch  the  cold  beef 
from  the  luncheon-table,  nor  yet,  if  banished  for 
its  crimes,  would  it  spend  the  night  in  scratching 
•  the  paint  off  the  hall  door.  Maria  bit  beggars 
(who  valued  their  disgusting  limbs  at  five  shillings 
the  square  inch),  she  bullied  the  servants,  she 
concealed  ducks'  claws  and  fishes'  backbones  be- 
hind the  sofa  cushions,  and  yet,  when  she  laid 
her  brown  snout  upon  my  knee,  and  rolled  her 
blackguard  amber  eyes  upon  me,  and  smote  me 
with  her  feathered  paw,  it  was  impossible  to  re- 
member her  iniquities  against  her.  On  shooting 
mornings  Maria  ceased  to  be  a  buccaneer,  a 
glutton,  and  a  hypocrite.  From  the  moment  when 
I  put  my  gun  together  her  breakfast  stood  un- 
touched until  it  suffered  the  final  degradation  of 
being  eaten  by  the  cats,  and  now  in  the  trap  she 
was  shivering  with  excitement,  and  agonising  in 
her  soul  lest  she  should  even  yet  be  left  behind. 

Slipper  met  me-  at  the  cross  roads  from  which 
I  had  sent  back  the  trap  ;  Slipper,  redder  in  the 
nose  than  anything  I  had  ever  seen  off  the  stage, 
very  husky  as  to  the  voice,  and  going  rather  tender 
on  both  feet.  He  informed  me  that  I  should  have 
a  grand  day's  shooting,  the  head-poacher  of  the 
locality  having,  in  a  most  gentlemanlike  manner^ 
refrained  from  exercising  his  sporting  rights  the 
day  before,  on  hearing  ihat  I  was  coming.  I 
understood  that  this  was  to  be  considered  as  a 


196     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

mark  of  high  personal  esteem,  and  I  set  to  work 
at  the  bog  with  suitable  gratitude. 

In  spite  of  Mr.  O'Driscoll's  magnanimity,  I  had 
not  a  very  good  morning.  The  snipe  were  there, 
but  in  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  weather  it  was 
impossible  to  get  near  them,  and  five  times  out 
of  six  they  were  up,  flickering  and  dodging,  before 
I  was  within  shot.  Maria  became  possessed  of 
seven  devils  and  broke  away  from  heel  the  first 
time  I  let  off  my  gun,  ranging  far  and  wide  in 
search  of  the  bird  I  had  missed,  and  putting  up 
every  live  thing  for  half  a  mile  round,  as  she  went 
^plashing  and  steeple-chasing  through  the  bog. 
Slipper  expressed  his  opinion  of  her  behaviour  in 
language  more  appallingly  picturesque  and  re- 
sourceful than  any  I  have  heard,  even  in  the 
Skebawn  Court-house ;  I  admit  that  at  the  time  I 
thought  he  spoke  very  suitably.  Before  she  was 
recaptured  every  remaining  snipe  within  earshot 
was  lifted  out  of  it  by  Slipper's  steam-engine 
whistles  and  my  own  infuriated  bellows  ;  it  was 
fortunate  that  the  bog  was  spacious  and  that  there 
was  still  a  long  tract  of  it.  ahead,  where  beyond 
these  voices  there  was  peace. 

I  worked  my  way  on,  jumping  treacle  -  dark 
drains,  floundering  through  the  rustling  yellow 
rushes,  circumnavigating  the  bog-holes,  and  taking 
every  possible  and  impossible  chance  of  a  shot ; 
by  the  time  I  had  reached  Corran  Lake  I  had 
got  two  and  a  half  brace,  retrieved  by  Maria 
with  a  perfection  that  showed  what  her  powers 
were  when  the  sinuous  adroitness  of  Slipper's 


Holy  Island  197 

woodbine  stick  was  fresh  in  her  mind.  But  with 
Maria  it  was  always  the  unexpected  that  hap- 
pened. My  last  snipe,  a  jack,  fell  in  the  lake,  and 
Maria,  bursting  through  the  reeds  with  kangaroo 
bounds,  and  cleaving  the  water  like  a  torpedo- 
boat,  was  a  model  of  all  the  virtues  of  her  kind. 
She  picked  up  the  bird  with  a  snake-like  dart  of 
her  head,  clambered  with  it  on  to  a  tussock,  and 
there,  well  out  of  reach  of  the  a'rm  of  the  law, 
before  our  indignant  eyes  crunched  it  twice  and 
bolted  it. 

"Well,"  said  Slipper  complacently,  some  ten 
minutes  afterwards,  "divil  such  a  bating  ever  I 
gave  a  dog  since  the  day  Prince  killed  owld 
Mrs.  Knox's  paycock  !  Prince  was  a  lump  of  a 
brown  tarrier  I  had  one  time,  and  faith  I  kicked 
the  toes  out  o'  me  owld  boots  on  him  before  I 
had  the  owld  lady  composed  ! " 

However  composing  Slipper's  methods  may  have 
been  to  Mrs.  Knox,  they  had  quite  the  contrary 
effect  upon  a  family  party  of  duck  that  had  been 
lying  in  the  reeds.  With  horrified  outcries  they 
broke  into  flight,  and  now  were  far  away  on 
the  ethereal  mirror  of  the  lake,  among  strings 
of  their  fellows  that  were  floating  and  quacking 
in  preoccupied  indifference  to  my  presence. 

A  promenade  along  the  lake-shore  demonstrated 
the  fact  that  without  a  boat  there  was "  no  more 
shooting  for  me ;  I  looked  across  to  the  island 
where,  some  time  ago,  I  had  seen  Philippa  and 
her  punt  arrive.  The  boat  was  tied  to"  an  over- 
hanging tree,  but  my  wife  was  nowhere  to  be 


198     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

seen.  I  was  opening  my  mouth  to  give  a  hail, 
when  I  saw  her  emerge  precipitately  from  among 
the  trees  and  jump  into  the  boat ;  Philippa  had 
not  in  vain  spent  many  summers  on  the  Thames, 
she  was  under  way  in  a  twinkling,  sculled  a  score 
of  strokes  at  the  rate  of  a  finish,  then  stopped 
and  stared  at  the  peaceful  island.  I  called  to 
her,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  the  punt  had  crackled 
through  the  reeds,  and  shoved  its  blunt  nose  ashore 
at  the  spot  where  I  was  standing. 

"  Sinclair,"  said  Philippa  in  ,/awe-struck  tones, 
"there's  something  on  the  island  !" 

"  I  hope  there's  something  to  eat  there,"  said  I. 

"  I  tell  you  there  is  something  there,  alive,"  said 
my  wife  with  her  eyes  as  large  as  saucers;  "it's 
making  an  awful  sound  like  snoring." 

"That's  the  fairies,  ma'am,"  said  Slipper  with 
complete  certainty ;  "  sure  I  known  them  that 
seen  fairies  in  that  island  as  thick  as  the 
grass,  and  every  one  o'  them  with  little  caps  on 
them." 

Philippa's  wide  gaze  wandered  to  Slipper's 
hideous  pug  face  and  back  to  me. 

"  It  was  not  a  human  being,  Sinclair ! "  she 
said  combatively,  though  I  had  not  uttered  a 
word. 

Maria  had  already,  after  the  manner  of  dogs, 
leaped,  dripping,  into  the  boat :  I  prepared  to 
follow  her  example. 

"  Major,"  said  Slipper,  in  a  tragic  whisper, 
'' there  was  a  man  was  a  night  on  that  island 
one  time,  watching  duck,  and  Thim  People  cot 


'The  Holy  Island  199 

him,  and  dhragged  him  through  Hell  and  through 
Death,  and  threw  him  in  the  tide " 

"Shove  off  the  boat,"  I  said,  too  hungry  for 
argument. 

Slipper  obeyed,  throwing  his  knee  over  the  gun- 
wale as  he  did  so,  and  tumbling  into  the  bow; 
we  could  have  done  without  him  very  comfortably, 
but  his  devotion  was  touching. 

Holy  Island  was  perhaps  a  hundred  yards  long, 
and  about  half  as  many  broad  ;  it  was  covered 
with  trees  and  a  dense  growth  of  rhododendrons  ; 
somewhere  in  the  jungle  was  a  ruined  fragment 
of  a  chapel,  smothered  in  ivy  and  briars,  and  in 
a  little  glade  in  the  heart  of  the  island  there  was 
a  holy  well.  We  landed,  and  it  was  obviously  a 
sore  humiliation  to  Philippa  that  not  a  sound  was 
to  be  heard  in  the  spell-bound  silence  of  the  island, 
save  the  cough  of  a  heron  on  a  tree-top. 

"It  was  there,"  she  said,  with  an  unconvinced 
glance  at  the  surrounding  thickets. 

"Sure,  I'll  give  a  thrawl  through  the  island, 
ma'am,"  volunteered  Slipper  with  unexpected  gal- 
lantry, "an'  if  it's  the  divil  himself  is  in  it,  I'll 
rattle  him  into  the  lake  ! " 

He  went  swaggering  on  his  search,  shouting, 
"Hi,  cock!"  and  whacking  the  rhododendrons 
with  his  stick,  and  after  an  interval  returned  and 
assured  us  that  the  island  was  uninhabited.  Being 
provided  with  refreshments  he  again  withdrew, 
.and  Philippa  and  Maria  and  I  fed  variously  and 
at  great  length,  and  washed  the  plates  with  water 
from  the  holy  well.  I  was  smoking  a  cigarette 


2oo     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

when  we  heard  Slipper  addressing  the  solitudes 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  island,  and  ending  with 
one  of  his  whisky-throated  crows  of  laughter. 

He  presently  came  lurching  towards  us  through 
the  bushes,  and  a  glance  sufficed  to  show  even 
Philippa — who  was  as  incompetent  a  judge  of 
such  matters  as  many  of  her  sex — that  he  was 
undeniably  screwed. 

"Major  Yeates  ! "  he  began,  "and  Mrs.  Major 
Yeates,  with  respex  to  ye,  I'm  bastely  dhrunk ! 
Me  head  is  light  since  the  'fluenzy,  and  the 
docthor  told  me  I  should  carry  a  little  bottle-een 
o'  sperrits " 

"  Look  here,"  I  said  to  Philippa,  "  I'll  take  him 
across,  and  bring  the  boat  back  for  you." 

"Sinclair,"  responded  my  wife  with  concentrated 
emotion,  "  I  would  rather  die  than  stay  on  this 
island  alone  ! " 

Slipper  was  getting  drunker  every  moment,  but 
I  managed  to  stow  him  on  his  back  in  the  bows 
of  the  punt,  in  which  position  he  at  once  began 
to  uplift  husky  and  wandering  strains  of  melody. 
To  this  accompaniment  we,  as  Tennyson  says, 

"  moved  from  the  brink  like  some  full-breasted  swan, 
That,  fluting  a  wild  carol  ere  her  death, 
Ruffles  her  pure  cold  plume,  and  takes  the  flood 
With  swarthy  web." 

Slipper  would  certainly  have  been  none  the 
worse  for  taking  the  flood,  and,  as  the  burden 
of  "  Lannigan's  Ball "  strengthened  and  spread 
along  the  tranquil  lake,  and  the  duck  once  more 


2OI 

fled  in  justifiable  consternation,  I  felt  much  inclined 
to  make  him  do  so. 

We  made  for  the  end  of  the  lake  that  was  nearest 
Shreelane,  and,  as  we  rounded  the  point  of  the 
island,  another  boat  presented  itself  to  our  view. 
It  contained  my  late  entertainer,  Mrs.  Canty,  seated 
bulkily  in  the  stern,  while  a  small  boy  bowed  him- 
self between  the  two  heavy  oars. 

"  It's  a  lovely  evening,  Major  Yeates,"  she  called 
out.  "I'm  just  going  to  the  island  to  get  some 
water  from  the  holy  well  for  me  daughter  that 
has  an  impression  on  her  chest.  Indeed,  I  thought 
'twas  yourself  was  singing  a  song  for  Mrs.  Yeates 
when  I  heard  you  coming,  but  sure  Slipper  is  a 
great  warrant  himself  for  singing." 

"May  the  divil  crack  the  two  legs  undher 
ye ! "  bawled  Slipper  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
compliment. 

Mrs.  Canty  laughed  genially,  and  her  boat  lum- 
bered away. 

I  shoved  Slipper  ashore  at  the  nearest  point ; 
Philippa  and  I  paddled  to  the  end  of  the  lake, 
and  abandoning  the  duck  as  a  bad  business,  walked 
home. 

A  few  days  afterwards  it  happened  that  it  was 
incumbent  upon  me  to  attend  the  funeral  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Bishop  of  the  diocese.  It  was 
what  is  called  in  France  "  nn  bcl  eiiterrement," 
with  inky  flocks  of  tall-hatted  priests,  and  count- 
less yards  of  white  scarves,  and  a  repast  of 
monumental  solidity  at  the  Bishop's  residence. 
The  actual  interment  was  to  take  place  in  Cork, 


2o2     Borne  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

and  we  moved  in  long  and  imposing  procession 
to  the  railway  station,  where  a  special  train 
awaited  the  cortege.  My  friend  Mr.  James  Canty 
was  among  the  mourners  :  an  important  and 
active  personage,  exchanging  condolences  with  the 
priests,  giving  directions  to  porters,  and  blowing 
his  nose  with  a  trumpeting  mournfulness  that 
penetrated  all  the  other  noises  of  the  platform. 
He  was  condescending  enough  to  notice  my 
presence,  and  found  time  to  tell  me  that  he  had 
given  Mr.  Murray  "a  sure  word"  with  regard 
to  some  of  "  the  wreckage  " — this  with  deep  signifi- 
cance, and  a  wink  of  an  inflamed  and  tearful  eye. 
I  saw  him  depart  in  a  first-class  carriage,  and  the 
odour  of  sanctity  ;  seeing  that  he  was  accompanied 
by  seven  priests,  and  that  both  windows  were  shut, 
the  latter  must  have  been  considerable. 

Afterwards,  in  the  town,  I  met  Murray,  looking 
more  pleased  with  himself  than  I  had  seen  him 
since  he  had  taken  up  the  unprofitable  task  of 
smuggler-hunting. 

"Come  along  and  have  some  lunch,"  he  said, 
"  I've  got  a  real  good  thing  on  this  time  !  That 
chap  Canty  came  to  me  late  last  night,  and  told 
me  that  he  knew  for  a  fact  that  the  island  on 
Corran  Lake  was  just  stiff  with  barrels  of  bacon 
and  rum,  and  that  I'd  better  send  every  man  I 
could  spare  to-day  to'  get  them  into  the  town.  I 
sent  the  men  but  at  eight  o'clock  this  morning ;  I 
think  I've  gone  one  better  than  Bosanquet  this 
time  1 " 

I  began  to  realise  that   Philippa  was  going  to 


The  Holy  Island  203 

score  heavily  on  the  subject  of  the  fairies  that 
she  had  heard  snoring  on  the  island,  and  I  im- 
parted to  Murray  the  leading  features  of  our  picnic 
there. 

"Oh,  Slipper's  been  up  to  his  chin  in  that  rum 
from  the  first/'  said  Murray.  "  I'd  like  to  know 
who  his  sleeping  partner  was  !  " 

It  was  beginning  to  get  dark  before  the  loaded 
carts  of  the  salvage  party  came  lumbering  past 
Murray's  windows  and  into  the  yard  of  the  police- 
barrack.  We  followed  them,  and  in  so  doing 
picked  up  Flurry  Knox,  who  was  sauntering  in  the 
same  direction.  It  was  a  good  haul,  five  big  casks 
of  rum,  and  at  least  a  dozen  smaller  barrels  of 
bacon  and  butter,  and  Murray  and  his  Chief 
Constable  smiled  seraphically  on  one  another  as 
the  spoil  was  unloaded  and  stowed  in  a  shed. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  as  well  to  see  how  the  butter 
is  keeping  ? "  remarked  Flurry,  who  had  been 
looking  on  silently,  with,  as  I  had  noticed,  a  still 
and  .amused  eye.  "The  rim  of  that  small  keg 
there  looks  as  if  it  had  been  shifted  lately." 

The  sergeant  looked  hard  at  Flurry ;  he  knew 
as  well  as  most  people  that  a  hint  from  Mr. 
Knox  was  usually  worth  taking.  He  turned  to 
Murray. 

"Will  I  open  it,  sir?" 

"Oh  !  open  it  if  Mr.  Knox  wishes,"  said  Murray, 
who  was  not  famous  for  appreciating  other  people's 
suggestions.  , 

The  keg  was  opened. 

"  Funny  butter,"  said  Flurry. 


104     S°me  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

The  sergeant  said  nothing.  The  keg  was  full 
of  black  bog-mould.  Another  was  opened,  and 
another,  all  with  the  same  result. 

"  Damnation  !  "  said  Murray,  suddenly  losing  his 
temper.  "  What's  the  use  of  going  on  with  those  ? 
Try  one  of  the  rum  casks." 

A  few  moments  passed  in  total  silence  while  a 
tap  and  a  spigot  were  sent  for  and  applied  to 
the  barrel.  The  sergeant  drew  off  a  mugful  and 
put  his  nose  to  it  with  the  deliberation  of  a  con- 
noisseur. 

"  Water,  sir,"  he  pronounced,  "  dirty  water,  with 
a  small  indication  of  sperrits." 

A  junior  constable  tittered  explosively,  met  the 
light  blue  glare  of  Murray's  eye,  and  withered 
away. 

"  Perhaps  it's  holy  water  I "  said  I,  with  a  waver- 
ing voice. 

Murray's  glance  pinned*  me  like  an  assegai,  and  I 
also  faded  into  the  background. 

"  Well,"  said  Flurry  in  dulcet  tones,  "  if  you  want 
to  know  where  the  stuff  is  that  was  in  those  barrels, 
I  can  tell  you,  for  I  was  told  it  myself  half-an-hour 
ago.  It's  gone  to  Cork  with  the  Bishop  by  special 
train  ! " 

Mr.  Canty  was  undoubtedly  a  man  of  resource. 
Mrs.  Canty  had  mistakenly  credited  me  with  an 
intelligence  equal  to  her  own,  and  on  receiving 
from  Slipper  a  highly  coloured  account  of  how 
audibly  Mr.  Canty  had  slept  off  his  potations,  had 
regarded  the  secret  of  Holy  Island  as  having  been 


The  Holy  Island  205 

given  away.  That  night  and  the  two  succeeding 
ones  were  spent  in  the  transfer  of  the  rum  to 
bottles,  and  the  bottles  and  the  butter  to  fish 
boxes  ;  these  were,  by  means  of  a  slight  lubrication 
of  the  railway  underlings  loaded  into  a  truck  as 
"  Fresh  Fish,  Urgent,"  and  attached  to  the  Bishop's 
funeral  train,  while  the  police,  decoyed  far  from 
the  scene  of  action,  were  breaking  their  backs 
over  barrels  of  bog-water.  "  I  suppose/'  continued 
Flurry  pleasantly,  "you  don't  know  the  pub  that 
Canty's  brother  has  in  Cork.  Well,  I  do.  I'm 
going  to  buy  some  rum  there  next  week,  cheap." 

"  I  shall  proceed  against  Canty,"  said  Murray, 
with  fateful  calm. 

"  You  won't  proceed  far,"  said  Flurry ;  "  you'll 
not  get  as  much  evidence  out  of  the  whole  country 
as'd  hang  a  cat." 

"  Who  was  your  informant  ?  "/demanded  Murray. 

Flurry  laughed.  "Well,  by  the  time  the  train 
was  in  Cork,  yourself  and  the  Major  were  the 
only  two  men  in  the  town  that  weren't  talking 
about  it." 


IX 

THE   POLICY   OF   THE  CLOSED 
DOOR 

THE  disasters  and  humiliations  that  befell  me 
at  Drumcurran  Fair  may  yet  be  remembered. 
They  certainly  have  not  been  forgotten  in  the 
regions  about  Skebawn,  where  the  tale  of  how 
Bernard  Shute  and  I  stole  each  other's  horses  has 
passed  into  history.  The  grand-daughter  of  the 
Mountain  Hare,  bought  by  Mr.  Shute  with  such 
light-hearted  enthusiasm,  was  restored  to  that  posi- 
tion between  the  shafts  of  a  cart  that  she  was  so 
well  fitted  to  grace;  Moonlighter,  his  other  pur- 
chase, spent  the  two  months  following  on  the  fair 
in  "favouring"  a  leg  with  a  strained  sinew,  and  in 
receiving  visits  from  the  local  vet.,  who,  however 
uncertain  in  his  diagnosis  of  Moonlighter's  leg, 
had  accurately  estimated  the  length  of  Bernard's 
foot. 

Miss  Bennett's  mare  Cruiskeen,  alone  of  the  trio, 
was  immediately  and  thoroughly  successful.  She 
went  in  harness  like  a  hero,  she  carried  Philippa 
like  an  elder  sister,  she  was  never  sick  or  sorry  ; 
as  Peter  Cadogan  summed  her  up,  "That  one  'd 
live  where  another  'd  die."  In  her.  safe  keeping 

306 


The  Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       207 

Philippa  made  her  debut  with  hounds  at  an  un- 
eventful morning's  cubbing,  with  no  particular 
result,  except  that  Philippa  returned  home  so 
stiff  that  she  had  to  go  to  bed  for  a  day,  and 
arose  more  determined  than  ever  to  be  a  fox- 
hunter. 

The  opening  meet  of  Mr.  Knox's  foxhounds  was 
on  November  i,  and  on  that  morning  Philippa  on 
Cruiskeen,  accompanied  by  me  on  tfie  Quaker,  set 
out  for  Ardmeen  Cross,  the  time-honoured  fixture 
for  All  Saints'  Day.  The  weather  was  grey  and 
quiet,  and  full  of  all  the  moist  sweetness  of  an  Irish 
autumn.  There  had  been  a  great  deal  of  rain 
during  the  past  month  ;  it  had  turned  the  bracken 
to  -a  purple  brown,  and  had  filled  the  hollows  with 
shining  splashes  of  water.  The  dead  leaves  were 
slippery  under  foot,  and  the  branches  above  were 
thinly  decked  with  yellow,  where  the  pallid  sur- 
vivors of  summer  still  clung  to  their  po^ts.  As 
Philippa  and  I  sedately  approached  the  meet  the 
red  coats  of  Flurry  Knox  and  his  whip,  Dr.  Jerome 
Hickey,  were,  to  be  seen  on  the  road  at  the  top  of 
the  hill ;  Cruiskeen  put  her  head  in.  the  air,  and 
stared  at  them  with  eyes  that  understood  all  they 
portended. 

"  Sinclair,"  said  my  wife  hurriedly,  as  a  straggling 
hound,  flogged  in  by  Dr.  Hickey,  uttered  a  griev- 
ous and  melodious  howl,  "  remember,  if  they  find, 
it's  no  use  to-  talk  to  me,  for  I  shan't  be  able  to 
speak." 

I  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with  Philippa  in 
moments  of  enthusiasm  to  exhibit  silently  the 


208     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

corner  of  a  clean  pocket-handkerchief ;  I  have  seen 
her  cry  when  a  police  constable  won  a  bicycle  race 
in  Skebawn  ;  she  has  wept  at  hearing  Sir  Valentine 
Knox's  health  drunk  with  musical  honours  at  a 
tenants'  dinner.  It  is  an  amiable  custom,  but,  as 
she  herself  admits,  it  is  unbecoming. 

An  imposing  throng,  in  point  of  numbers,  was 
gathered  at  the  cross-roads,  the  riders  being  almost 
swamped  in  the  crowd  of  traps,  outside  cars, 
bicyclists,  and  people  on  foot.  The  field  was  an 
eminently  representative  one.  The  Clan  Knox 
was,  as  usual,  there  in  force,  its  more  aristocratic 
members  dingily  respectable  in  black  coats  and  tall 
hats  that  went  impartially  to  weddings,  funerals, 
and  hunts,  and,  like  a  horse  that  is  past  mark  of 
mouth,  were  no  longer  to  be  identified  with  any 
special  epoch ;  there  was  a  humbler  squireen  ele- 
ment in  tweeds  and  flat-brimmed  pot-hats,  and  a 
good  muster  of  farmers,  men  of  the  spare,  black- 
muzzled,  West  of  Ireland  type,  on  horses  that 
ranged  from  the  cart  mare,  clipped  trace  high,  to 
shaggy  and  leggy  three-year-olds,  none  of  them 
hunters,  but  all  of  them  able  to  hunt.  Philippa 
and  I  worked  our  way  to  the  heart  of  things,  where 
was  Flurry,  seated  on  his  brown  mare,  in  what 
appeared  to  be  a  somewhat  moody  silence.  As 
we  exchanged  greetings  I  was  aware  that  his  eye 
was  resting  with  extreme  disfavour  upon  two  ap- 
proaching figures.  I  put  up  my  eye-glass,  and  per- 
ceived that  one  of  them  was  Miss  Sally  Knox,  on 
a  tall  grey  horse ;  the  other  was  Mr.  Bernard 
Shute,  in  all  the  flawless  beauty  of  his  first  pink 


The  Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       209 

coat,  mounted  on  Stockbroker,  a  well-known,  hard- 
mouthed,  big-jumping  bay,  recently  purchased  from 
Dr.  Hickey. 

During  the  languors  of  a  damp  autumn  the 
neighbourhood  had  been  much  nourished  and 
sustained  by  the  privilege  of  observing  and  diag- 
nosing the  progress  of  Mr.  Shute's  flirtation  with 
Miss  Sally  Knox.  What  made  it  all  the  more 
enjoyable  for  the  lookers-on — or  most  of  them — 
was,  that  although  Bernard's  courtship  was  of 
the  nature  of  a  proclamation  from  the  housetops, 
Miss  Knox's  attitude  left  everything  to  the  imagi- 
nation. To  Flurry  Knox  the  romantic  but  des- 
picable position  of  slighted  rival  was  comfortably 
allotted  ;  his  sole  sympathisers  were  Philippa  and 
old  Mrs.  Knox  of  Aussolas,  but  no  one  knew  if 
he  needed  sympathisers.  Flurry  was  a  man  of 
mystery. 

Mr.  Shute  and  Miss  Knox  approached  us  rapidly, 
the  latter's  mount  pulling  hard. 

"  Flurry,"  I  said,  "  isn't  that  grey  the  horse  Shute 
bought  from  you  last  July  at  the  fair  V  " 

Flurry  did  not  answer  me.  His  face  was  as 
black  as  thunder.  He  turned  his  horse  round, 
cursing  two  country  boys  who  got  in  his  way, 
with  low  and  concentrated  venom,  and  began  to 
move  forward,  followed  by  the  hounds.  If  his 
wish  was  to  avoid  speaking  to  Miss  Sally  it  was 
not  to  be  gratified. 

"  Good  -  morning,  Flurry,"  she  began,  sitting 
close  down  to  Moonlighter's  ramping  jog  as  she 
rode  up  beside  her  cousin.  "  What  a  hurry 

o 


210     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

you're  in !  We  passed  no  end  of  people  on 
the  road  who  won't  be  here  for  another  ten 
minutes." 

"  No  more  will  I,"  was  Mr.  Knox's  cryptic  reply, 
as  he  spurred  the  brown  mare  into  a  trot. 

Moonlighter  made  a  vigorous  but  frustrated 
effort  to  buck,  and  indemnified  himself  by  a  suc- 
cessful kick  at  a  hound. 

"  Bother  you,  Flurry !  Can't  you  walk  for  a 
minute  ?  "  exclaimed  Miss  Sally,  who  looked  about 
as  large,  in  relation  to  her  horse,  as  the  conven- 
tional tomtit  on  a  round  of  beef.  "  You  might 
have  more  sense  than  to  crack  your  whip  under 
this  horse's  nose  !  I  don't  believe  you  know  what 
horse  it  is  even  ! " 

I  was  not  near  enough  to  catch  Flurry's  reply. 

"Well,  if  you  didn't  want  him  to  be  lent  to 
me  you  shouldn't  have  sold  him  to  Mr.  Shute  ! " 
retorted  Miss  Knox,  in  her  clear,  provoking  little 
voice. 

"  I  suppose  he's  afraid  to  ride  him  himself,"  said 
Flurry,  turning  his  horse  in  at  a  gate.  "Get  ahead 
there,  Jerome,  can't  you  ?  It's  better  to  put  them 
in  at  this  end  than  to  have  every  one  riding  on 
top  of  them  !  " 

Miss  Sally's  cheeks  were  still  very  pink  when 
I  came  up  and  began  to  talk  to  her,  and  her  grey- 
green  eyes  had  a  look  in  them  like  those  of  an 
angry  kitten. 

The  riders  moved  slowly  down  a  rough  pasture- 
field,  and  took  up  their  position  along  the  brow 
of  Ardmeen  covert,  into  which  the  hounds  had 


The  Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       2 1 1 

already  hurled  themselves  with  their  customary 
contempt  for  the  convenances.  Flurry's  hounds, 
true  to  their  nationality,  were  in  the  habit  of  doing 
the  right  thing  in  the  wrong  way. 

Untouched  by  autumn,  the  furze  bushes  of 
Ardmeen  covert  were  darkly  green,  save  for  a 
golden  fleck  of  blossom  here  and  there,  and  the 
glistening  grey  cobwebs  that  stretched  from  spike 
to  spike.  The  look  of  the  ordinary  gorse  covert 
is  familiar  to  most  people  as  a  tidy  enclosure  of 
an  acre  or  so,  filled  with  low  plants  of  well- 
educated  gorse ;  not  so  many  will  be  found  who 
have  experience  of  it  as  a  rocky,  sedgy  wilder- 
ness, half  a  mile  square,  garrisoned  with  brigades 
of  furze  bushes,  some  of  them  higher  than  a 
horse's  head,  lean,  strong,  and  cunning,  like  the 
foxes  that  breed  in  them,  impenetrable,  with  their 
bristling  spikes,  as  a  hedge  of  bayonets.  By  dint 
of  infinite  leisure  and  obstinate  greed,  the  catttle 
had  made  paths  for  themselves  through  the  bushes 
to  the  patches  of  grass  that  they  hemmed  in ; 
their  hoofprints  were  guides  to  the  explorer, 
down  muddy  staircases  of  rock,  and  across  black 
intervals  of  unplumbed  bog.  The  whole  covert 
slanted  gradually  down  to  a  small  river  that  raced 
round  three  sides  of  it,  and  beyond  the  stream, 
in  agreeable  contrast,  lay  a  clean  and  wholesome 
country  of  grass  fields  and  banks. 

The  hounds  drew  slowly  along  and  down  the 
hill  towards  the  river,  and  the  riders  hung  about 
outside  the  covert,  and  tried — I  can  answer  for 
at  least  one  of  them — to  decide  which  was  the 


212     Some   "Experiences  of  an  Irish 

least  odious  of  the  ways  through  it,  in  the  event 
of  the  fox  breaking  at  the  far  side.  Miss  Sally 
took  up  a  position  not  very  far  from  me,  and 
it  was  easy  to  see  that  she  had  her  hands  full 
with  her  borrowed  mount,  on  whose  temper  the 
delay  and  suspense  were  visibly  telling.  His  iron- 
grey  neck  was  white  from  the  chafing  of  the 
reins ;  had  the  ground  under  his  feet  been  red- 
hot  he  could  hardly  have  sidled  and  hopped  more 
uncontrollably ;  nothing  but  the  most  impas- 
sioned conjugation  of  the  verb  to  condemn  could 
have  supplied  any  human  equivalent  for  the 
manner  in  which  he  tore  holes  in  the  sedgy  grass 
with  a  furious  forefoot.  Those  who  were  even 
superficial  judges  of  character  gave  his  heels  a 
liberal  allowance  of  sea-room,  and  Mr.  Shute, 
who  could  not  be  numbered  among  such,  and 
had,  as  usual,  taken  up  a  position  as  near  Miss 
Sally  as  possible,  was  rewarded  by  a  double  knock 
on  his  horse's  ribs  that  was  a  cause  of  heartless 
mirth  to  the  lady  of  his  affections. 

Not  a  hound  had  as  yet  spoken,  but  they  were 
forcing  their  way  through  the  gorse  forest  and 
shoving  each  other  jealously  aside  with  growing 
excitement,  and  Flurry  could  be  seen  at  intervals, 
moving  forward  in  the  direction  they  were  indi- 
cating. It  was  at  this  juncture  that  the  ubi- 
quitous Slipper  presented  himself  at  my  horse's 
shoulder. 

"'Tis  for  the  river  he's  making,  Major,"  he  said, 
with  an  upward  roll  of  his  squinting  eyes,  that 
nearly  made  me  sea-sick.  "  He's  a  Castle  Knox 


T*he  Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       2 1 3 

fox  that  came  in  this  morning,  and  ye  should  get 
ahead  down  to  the  ford  1 " 

A  tip  from  Slipper  was  not  to  be  neglected,  and 
Philippa  a'nd  I  began  a  cautious  progress  through 
the  gorse,  followed  by  Miss  Knox  as  quietly  as 
Moonlighter's  nerves  would  permit. 

"Wishful  has  it!"  she  exclaimed,  as  a  hound 
came  out  into  view,  uttered  a  sharp  yelp,  and 
drove  forward. 

"  Hark  !  hark  1 "  roared  Flurry  with  at  least  three 
/s  reverberating  in  each  ''hark";  at  the  same 
instant  came  a  holloa  from  the  farther  side  of 
the  river,  and  Dr.  Hickey's  renowned  and  blood- 
curdling screech  was  uplifted  at  the  bottom  of 
the  covert.  Then  babel  broke  forth,  as  the  hounds, 
converging  from  every  quarter,  flung  themselves 
shrieking  on  the  line.  Moonlighter  went  straight 
up  on  his  hind-legs,  and  dropped  again  with  a 
bound  that  sent  him  crushing  past  Philippa  and 
Cruiskeen ;  he  did  it  a  second  time,  and  was 
almost  on  to  the  tail  of  the  Quaker,  whose 
bulky  person  was  not  to  be  hurried  in  any 
emergency. 

"Get  on  if  you  can,  Major  Yeates!"  called  out 
Sally,  steadying  the  grey  as  well  as  she  could  in 
the  narrow  pathway  between  the  great  gorse 
bushes. 

Other  horses  were  thundering  behind  us,  men 
were  shouting  to  each  other  in  similar  passages 
right  and  left  of  us,  the  cry  of  the  hounds  filled 
the  air  with  a  kind  of  delirium.  A  low  wall  with 
a  stick  laid  along  it  barred  the  passage  in  front 


214     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

of  me,  and  the  Quaker  firmly  and  immediately 
decided  not  to  have  it  until  some  one  else  had  dis- 
lodged the  pole. 

"Go  ahead!"  I  shouted,  squeezing  to  one  side 
with  heroic  disregard  of  the  furze  bushes  and  my 
new  tops. 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  my  mouth  when 
Moonlighter,  mad  with  thwarted  excitement,  shot 
by  me,  hurtled  over  the  obstacle  with  extravagant 
fury,  landed  twelve  feet  beyond  it  on  clattering 
slippery  rock,  saved  himself  from  falling  with 
an  eel-like  forward  buck  on  to  sedgy  ground, 
and  bolted  at  full  speed  down  the  muddy  cattle 
track.  There  are  corners — rocky,  most  of  them— 
in  that  cattle  track,  that  Sally  has  told  me  she  will 
remember  to  her  dying  day ;  boggy  holes  of  any 
depth,  ranging  between  two  feet  and  half-way  to 
Australia,  that  she  says  she  does  not  fail  to  mention 
in  the  General  Thanksgiving  ;  but  at  the  time  they 
occupied  mere  fractions  of  the  strenuous  seconds 
in  which  it  was  hopeless  for  her  to  do  anything 
but  try  to  steer,  trust  to  luck,  sit  hard  down  into 
the  saddle  and  try-  to  stay  there.  (For  my  part, 
I  would  as  soon  try  to  adhere  to  the  horns  of  a 
charging  bull  as  to  the  crutches  of  a  side-saddle, 
but  happily  the  necessity  is  not  likely  to  arise.) 
I  saw  Flurry  Knox  a  little  ahead  of  her  on  the 
same  track,  jamming  his  mare  into  the  furze 
bushes  to  get  out  of  her  way ;  he  shouted  some- 
thing after  her  about  the  ford,  and  started  to 
gallop  for  it  himself  by  a  breakneck  short  cut. 

The  hounds  were  already  across  the  river,  and 


The  Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       215 

it  was  obvious  that,  ford  or  no  ford,  Moonlighter's 
intentions  might  be  simply  expressed,  in  the  formula 
"Be  with  them  I  will."  It  was  all  down-hill  to 
the  river,  and  among  the  furze  bushes  and  rocks 
there  was  neither  time  nor  place  to  turn  him. 
He  rushed  at  it  with  a  shattering  slip  upon  a 
streak  of  rock,  with  a  heavy  plunge  in  the  deep 
ground  by  the  brink ;  it  was  as  bad  a  take-off  for 
twenty  feet  of  water  as  could  well  be  found.  The 
grey  horse  rose  out  of  the  boggy  stuff  with"  all 
the  impetus  that  pace  and  temper  could  give,  but 
it  was  not  enough.  For  one  instant  the  twisting, 
sliding  current  was  under  Sally,  the  next  a  veil 
of  water  sprang  up  all  round  her,  and  Moon- 
lighter was  rolling  and  lurching  in  the  desperate 
effort  to  find  foothold  in  the  rocky  bed  of  the 
stream. 

I  was  following  at  the  best  pace  I  could  kick 
out  of  the  Quaker,  and  saw  the  water  swirl  into 
her  lap  as  her  horse  rolled  to  the  near-side.  She 
caught  the  mane  to  save  herself,  but  he  struggled 
on  to  his  legs  again,  and  came  floundering  broad- 
side on  to  the  further  bank.  In  three  seconds 
she  had  got  out  of  the  saddle  and  flung  herself 
at  the  bank,  grasping  the  rushes,  and  trying,  in 
spite  of  the  sodden  weight  of  her  habit,  to  drag 
herself  out  of  the  water. 

At  the  same  instant  I  saw  Flurry  and  the  brown 
mare  dashing  through  the  ford,  twenty  yards 
higher  up.  He  was  off  his  horse  and  beside  her 
with  that  uncanny  quickness  that  Flurry  reserved 
for  moments  of  emergency,  and,  catching  her  by 


2 1 6     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

the  arms,  swung  her  on  to  the  bank  as  easily  as 
if  she  had  been  the  kennel  terrier. 

"  Catch  the  horse  ! "  she  called  out,  scrambling 
to  her  feet. 

"  Damn  the  horse  I "  -  returned  Flurry,  in  the 
rage  that  is  so  often  the  reaction  from  a  bad 
scare. 

I  turned  along  the  bank  and  made  for  the 
ford  ;  by  this  time  it  was  full  of  hustling,  splash- 
ing riders,  through  whom  Bernard  Shute,  furiously 
picking  up  a  bad  start,  drove  a  devastating  way. 
He  tried  to  turn  his  horse  down  the  bank  to- 
wards Miss  Knox,  but  the  hounds  were  running 
hard,  and,  to  my  intense  amusement,  Stockbroker 
refused  to  abandon  the  chase,  and  swept  his  rider 
away  in  the  wake  of  his  stable  companion,  Dr. 
Rickey's  young  chestnut.  By  this  time  two 
country  boys  had,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  risen 
from  the  earth,  and  fished  Moonlighter  out  of 
the  stream.  Miss  Sally  wound  up  an  acrimonious 
argument  with  her  cousin  by  observing  that  she 
didn't  care  what  he  said,  and  placing  her  water- 
logged boot  in  his  obviously  unwilling  hand,  in 
a  second  was  again  in  the  saddle,  gathering  up 
the  wet  reins  with  the  trembling,  clumsy  fingers 
of  a  person  who  is  thoroughly  chilled  and  in  a 
violent  hurry.  She  set  Moonlighter  going,  and 
was  away  in  a  moment,  galloping  him  at  the 
first  fence  at  a  pace  that  suited  his  steeplechasing 
ideas. 

"  Mr.  Knox  ! "  panted  Philippa,  who  had  by 
this  time  joined  us,  "  make  her  go  home  1 " 


The  Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       2 1 7 

"She  can  go  where  she  likes  as  far  as  I'm 
concerned,"  responded  Mr.  Knox,  pitching  him- 
self on  his  mare's  back  and  digging  in  the 
spurs. 

Moonlighter  had  already  glided  over  the  bank 
in  front  of  us,  with  a  perfunctory  flick  at  it  with 
his  heels ;  Flurry's  mare  and  Cruiskeen  jumped 
it  side  by  side  with  equal  precision.  It  was  a 
bank  of  some  five  feet  high  ;  the  Quaker  charged 
it  enthusiastically,  refused  it  abruptly,  and,  accord- 
ing to  his  infuriating  custom  at  such  moments, 
proceeded  to  tear  hurried  mouthfuls  of  grass. 

"Will  I  give  him  a  couple  o'  belts,  your 
Honour  ? "  shouted  one  of  the  running  accom- 
paniment of  country  boys. 

"You  will!"  said  I,  with  some  further  re- 
marks to  the  Quaker  that  I  need  not  commit 
to  paper. 

Swish  I  Whack !  The  sound  was  music  in 
my  ears,  as  the  good,  remorseless  ash  sapling 
bent  round  the  Quaker's  dappled  hind-quarters. 
At  the  third  stripe  he  launched  both  his  heels 
in  the  operator's  face ;  at  the  fourth  he  reared 
undecidedly ;  at  the  fifth  he  bundled  over  the 
bank  in  a  manner  purged  of  hesitation. 

"Ha!"  yelled  my  assistants,  "that'll  put  the 
fear  o'  God  in  him  ! "  as  the  Quaker  fled  head- 
long after  the  hunt.  "He'll  be  the  betther  o' 
that  while  he  lives  ! " 

Without  going  quite  as  far  as  this,  I  must  admit 
that  for  the  next  half-hour  he  was  astonishingly 
the  better  of  it. 


2 1 8     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

The  Castle   Knox  fox  was  making  a  very  pretty 
line  of  it  over  the  seven  miles  that  separated  him 


"HE'LL  BE  THE  BETTHER  o'  THAT  WHILE  HE  LIVES!" 

from   his    home.      He    headed    through    a   grassy 
country    of    Ireland's    mild    and    brilliant    green, 


The  Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       219 

fenced  with  sound  and  buxom  banks,  enlivened 
by  stone  walls,  uncompromised  by  the  presence 
of  gates,  and  yet  comfortably  laced  With  lanes 
for  the  furtherance  of  those  who  had  laid  to 
heart  Wolsey's  valuable  advice :  "  Fling  away 
ambition  :  by  that  sin  fell  the  angels."  The 
flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  hunt  pervaded  the 
landscape :  standing  on  one  long  bank,  three 
dismounted  farmers  flogged  away  at  the  refusing 
steeds  below  them,  like  anglers  trying  to  rise  a 
sul^y  fish  ;  half-a-dozen  hats,  bobbing  in  a  string, 
showed  where  the  road  riders  followed  the  de- 
lusive windings  of  a  bohireen.  It  was  obvious 
that  in  the  matter  of  ambition  they  would  not 
have  caused  Cardinal  Wolsey  a  moment's  uneasi- 
ness ;  whether  angels  or  otherwise,  they  were  not 
going  to  run  any  risk  of  falling. 

Flurry's  red  coat  was  like  a  beacon  two  fields 
ahead  of  me,  with  Philippa  following  in  his  tracks  ; 
it  was  the  first  run  worthy  of  the  name  that 
Philippa  had  ridden,  and  I  blessed  Miss  Bobby 
Bennett  as  I  saw  Cruiskeen's  undefeated  fencing. 
An  encouraging  twang  of  the  Doctor's  horn  noti- 
fied that  the  hounds  were  giving  us  a  chance ; 
even  the  Quaker  pricked  his  blunt  ears  and 
swerved  in  his  stride  to  the  sound.  A  stone  wall, 
a  rough  patch  of  heather,  a  boggy  field,  dinted 
deep  and  black  with  hoof  marks,  and  the  stern 
chase  was  at  an  end.  The  hounds  had  checked 
on  the  outskirts  of  a  small  wood,  and  the  field, 
thinned  down  to  a  panting  dozen  or  so,  viewed 
us  with  the  disfavour  shown  by  the  first  flight 


220     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

towards  those  who  unexpectedly  add  to  their 
select  number.  In  the  depths  of  the  wood  Dr. 
Hickey  might  be  heard  uttering  those  singular 
little  yelps  of  encouragement  that  to  the  irreve- 
rent suggest  a  milkman  in  his  dotage.  Bernard 
Shute,  who  neither  knew.,  nor  cared  what  the 
hounds  were  doing,  was  expatiating  at  great  length 
to  an  uninterested  squireen  upon  the  virtues  and 
perfections  of  his  new  mount. 

"  \  did  all  I  knew  to  come  and  help  you  at 
the  river,"  he  said,  riding  up  to  the  splashed 
and  still  dripping  Sally,  "  but  Stockbroker  wouldn't 
hear  of  it,  I  pulled  his  ugly  head  round  till  his 
nose  was  on  my  boot,  but  he  galloped  away 
just  the  same  !  " 

"  He  was  quite  right,"  said  Miss  Sally ;  "  I 
didn't  want  you  in  the  least." 

As  Miss  Sally's  red  gold  coil  of  hair  was  turned 
towards  me  during  this  speech,  I  could  only  infer 
the  glance  with  which  it  was  delivered,  from  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Shute  responded  to  it  with  one  of 
those  firm  gazes  of  adoration  in  which  the  neigh- 
bourhood took  such  an  interest,  and  crumbled 
away  into  incoherency. 

A  shout  from  the  top  of  a  hill  interrupted  the 
amenities  of  the  check ;  Flurry  was  out  of  the 
wood  in  half-a-dozen  seconds,  blowing  shattering 
blasts  upon  his  horn,  and  the  hounds  rushed  to 
him,  knowing  the  "gone  away"  note  that  was 
never  blown  in  vain.  The  brown  mare  came 
out  through  the  trees  and  the  undergrowth  like 
a  woodcock  down  the  wind,  and  jumped  across 


Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       221 

a  stream  on  to  a  more  than  questionable  bank ; 
the  hounds  splashed  and  struggled  after  him,  and, 
as  they  landed,  the  first  ecstatic  whimpers  broke 
forth.  In  a  moment  it  was  full  cry,  discordant, 
beautiful,  and  soul-stirring,  as  the  pack  spread 
and  sped,  and  settled  to  the  line.  I  saw  the  absurd 
dazzle  of  tears  in  Philippa's  eyes/' and  found  time 
for  the  insulting  proffer  of  the  ctean  pocket-hand- 
kerchief, as  we  all  galloped  hard  to  get  away  on 
good  terms  with  the  hounds. 

It  was  one  of  those  elect  moments  in  fox-hunting 
when  the  fittest  alone  have  survived ;  even  the 
Quaker's  sluggish  blood  was  stirred  by  good  com- 
pany, and  possibly  by  the  remembrance  of  the 
singing  ash-plant,  and  he  lumbered  up  tall  stone- 
faced  banks  and  down  heavy  drops,  and  across 
wide  ditches,  in  astounding  adherence  to  the  line 
cut  out  by  Flurry.  Cruiskeen  went  like  a  book — 
a  story  for  girls,  very  pleasant  and  safe,  but  rather 
slow.  Moonlighter  was  pulling  Miss  Sally  on  to 
the  sterns  of  the  hounds,  flying  his  banks,  rocket- 
ing like  a  pheasant  over1  three-foot  walls — com- 
mitting, in  fact,  all  the  crimes  induced  by  youth 
and  over-feeding  ;  he  would  have  done  very  com- 
fortably with  another  six  or  seven  stone  on  his 
back. 

Why  Bernard  Shute  did  not  come  off  at  every 
fence  and  generally  die  a  thousand  deaths  I  cannot 
explain.  Occasionally  I  rather  wished  he  would, 
as,  from  my  secure  position  in  the  rear,  I  saw 
him  charging  his  fences  at  whatever  pace  and 
place  seemed  good  to  the  thoroughly  demoralised 


222     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Stockbroker,  and  in  so  doing  cannon  heavily 
against  Dr.  Hickey  on  landing  over  a  rotten  ditch, 
jump  a  wall  with  his  spur  rowelling  Charlie  Knox's 
boot,  and  cut  in  at  top  speed  in  front  of  Flurry, 
who  was  scientifically  cramming  his  mare  up  a 
very  awkward  scramble.  In  so  far  as  I  could 
think  of  anything  beyond  Philippa  and  myself 
and  the  next  fence,  I  thought  there  would  be 
trouble  for  Mr.  Shute  in  consequence  of  this  last 
feat.  It  was  a  half-hour  long  to  be  remembered, 
in  spite  of  the  Quaker's  ponderous  and  unalter- 
able gallop,  in  spite  of  the  thump  with  which 
he  came  down  off  his  banks,  in  spite  of  the 
confiding  manner  in  which  he  hung  upon  my 
hand. 

We  were  nearing  Castle  Knox,  and  the  riders 
began  to  edge  away  from  the  hounds  towards  a 
gate  that  broke  the  long  barrier  of  the  demesne 
wall.  Steaming  horses  and  purple-faced  riders 
clattered  and  crushed  in  at  the  gate  ;  there  was  a 
moment  of  pulling  up  and  listening,  in  which 
quivering  tails  and  pumping  sides  told  their  own 
story.  Cruiskeen's  breathing  suggested  a  cross 
between  a  grampus  and  a  gramaphone ;  Philippa's 
hair  had  come  down,  and  she  had  a  stitch  in  her 
side.  Moonlighter,  fresher  than  ever,  stamped  and 
dragged  at  his  bit ;  I  thought  little  Miss  Sally 
looked  very  white.  The  bewildering  clamour  of 
the  hounds  was  all  through  the  wide  laurel  planta- 
tions. At  a  word  from  Flurry,  Dr.  Hickey  shoved 
his  horse  ahead  and  turned  down  a  ride,  followed 
by  most  of  the  field. 


The  Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       223 

"  Philippa,"  I  said  severely,  "you've  had  enough, 
and  you  know  it." 

"Do  go  up  to  the  house  and  make  them  give 
you  something  to  eat,"  struck  in  Miss  Sally, 
twisting  Moonlighter  round  to  keep  his  mind 
occupied. 

"And  as  for  you,  Miss  Sally,"  I  went  on,  in  the 
manner  of  Mr.  Fairchild,  "the  sooner  you  get  off 
that  horse  and  out  of  those  wet  things  the  better." 

Flurry,  who  was  just  in  front  of  us,  said  nothing, 
but  gave  a  short  and  most  disagreeable  laugh. 
Philippa  accepted  my  suggestion  with  the  meek- 
ness of  exhaustion,  but  under  the  circumstances  it 
did  not  surprise  me  that  Miss  Sally  did  not  follow 
her  example. 

Then  ensued  an  hour  of  woodland  hunting  at 
its  worst  and  most  bewildering.  I  galloped  after 
Flurry  and  Miss  Sally  up  and  down  long  glittering 
lanes  of  laurel,  at  every  other  moment  burying  my 
face  in  the  Quaker's  coarse  white  mane  to  avoid 
the  slash  of  the  branches,  and  receiving  down  the 
back  of  my  neck  showers  of  drops  stored  up  from 
the  rain  of  the  day  before ;  playing  an  endless 
game  of  hide-and-seek  with  the  hounds,  and 
never  getting  any  nearer  to  them,  as  they  turned 
and  doubled  through  .the  thickets  of  evergreens. 
Even  to  my  limited  understanding  of  the  situation 
it  became  clear  at  length  that  two  foxes  were  on 
foot ;  most  of  the  hounds  were  hard  at  work  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away,  but  Flurry,  with  a  grim 
face  and  a  faithful  three  couple,  stuck  to  the 
failing  line  of  the  hunted  fox. 


224    -Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

There  came  a  moment  when  Miss  Sally  and  I—- 
who through  many  vicissitudes  had  clung  to  each 
other — found  ourselves  at  a  spot  where  two  rides 
crossed.  Flurry  was  waiting  there,  and  a  little  way 
up  one  of  the  rides  a  couple  of  hounds  were 
hustling  to  and  fro,  with  the  thwarted  whimpers 
half  breaking  from  them ;  he  held  up  his  hand 
to  stop  us,  and  at  that  identical  moment  Bernard 
Shute,  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue,  burst  upon  our 
vision.  It  need  scarcely  be  mentioned  that  he  was 
going  at  full  gallop — I  have  rarely  seen  him  ride 
at  any  other  pace — and  as  he  bore  down  upon 
Flurry  and  the  hounds,  ducking  and  dodging  to 
avoid  the  branches,  he  shouted  something  about  a 
fox  having  gone  away  at  the  other  side  of  the 
covert. 

"Hold  hard!"  roared  Flurry;  "don.'t  you  see 
the  hounds,  you  fool  ? " 

Mr.  Shute,  to  do  him  justice,  held  hard  with  all 
the  strength  of  his  body,  but  it  was  of  no  avail. 
The  bay  horse  had  got  his  head  down  and  his  tail 
up,  there  was  a  piercing  yell  from  a  hound  as  it 
was  ridden  over,  and  Flurry's  brown  mare  will 
not  soon  forget  the  moment  when  Stockbroker's 
shoulder  took  her  on  the  point  of  the  hip  and  sent 
her  staggering  into  the  laurel  branches.  As  she 
swung  round,  Flurry's  whip  went  up,  and  with  a 
swift  backhander  the  cane  and  the  looped  thong 
caught  Bernard  across  his  broad  shoulders. 

"O  Mr.  Shute!"  shrieked  Miss  Sally,  as  I 
stared  dumfoundered ;  "  did  that  branch  hurt 
you?" 


The  Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       225 

"  All  right !  Nothing  to  signify  !  "  he  called  out 
as  he  bucketed  past,  tugging  at  his  horse's  head. 
"  Thought  some  one  had  hit  me  at  first !  Come  on, 
we'll  catch  'em  up  this  way  1 " 

He  swung  perilously  into  the  main  ride  and 
was  gone,  totally  unaware  of  the  position  that  Miss 
Sally's  quickness  had  saved. 

Flurry  rode  straight  up  to  his  cousin,  with  a 
pale,  dangerous  face. 

"I  suppose  you  think  I'm  to  stand  being  ridden 
over  and  having  my  hounds  killed  to  please  you," 
he  said  ;  "  but  you're  mistaken.  You  were  very 
smart,  and  you  may  think  you've  saved  him  his 
licking,  but  you  needn't  think  he  won't  get  it. 
He'll  have  it  in  spite  of  you,  before  he  goes  to  his 
bed  this  night !  " 

A  man  who  loses  his  temper*  badly  because  he 
is  badly  in  love  is  inevitably  ridiculous,  far  though 
he  may  be  from  thinking  himself  so.  He  is  also 
a  highly  unpleasant  person  to  argue  with,  and  ~ 
Miss  Sally  and  I  held  our  peace  respectfully.  He 
turned  his  horse  and  rode  away. 

Almost  instantly  the  three  couple  of  hounds 
opened  in  the  underwood  near  us  with  a  deafen- 
ing crash,  and  not  twenty  yards  ahead  the  hunted 
fox,  dark  with  wet  and  mud,  slunk  across  the 
ride.  The  hounds  were  almost  on  his  brush  ; 
Moonlighter  reared  and  chafed. ;  the  din  was 
redoubled,  passed  away  to  a  little  distance,  and 
suddenly  seemed  stationary  in  the  middle  of  the 
laurels. 

"Could  he  have  got  into  the  old  ice-house?" 

P 


226     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

exclaimed  Miss  Sally,  with  reviving  excitement. 
She  pushed  ahead,  and  turned  down  the  narrowest 
of  all  the  rides  that  had  that  day  been  my  portion. 
At  the  end  of  the  green  tunnel  there  was  a 
comparatively  open  space ;  Flurry's  mare  was 
standing  in  it,  riderless,  and  Flurry  himself  was 
hammering  with  a  stone  at  the  padlock  of  a 
door  that  seemed  to  .lead  into  the  heart  of  a 
laurel  clump.  The  hounds  were  baying  furiously 
somewhere  back  of  the  entrance,  among  the  laurel 
stems. 

"  He's  got  in  by  the  old  ice  drain,"  said  Flurry, 
addressing  himself  sulkily  to  me,  and  ignoring 
Miss  Sally.  He  had  not  the  least  idea  of  how 
absurd  was  his  scowling  face,  draped  by  the 
luxuriant  hart's-tongues  that  overhung  the  door- 
way. 

The  padlock  yielded,  and  the  opening  door 
revealed  a  low,  dark  passage,  into  which  Flurry 
disappeared,  lugging  a  couple  of  hounds  with  him 
by  the  scruff  of  the  neck ;  the  remaining  two 
couple  bayed  implacably  at  the  mouth  of  the 
drain.  The  croak  of  a  rusty  bolt  told  of  a  second 
door  at  the  inner  end  of  the  passage. 

"  Look  out  for  the  steps,  Flurry,  they're  all 
broken,"  called  out  Miss  Sally  in  tones  of  honey. 

There  was  no  answer.  Miss  Sally  looked  at 
me ;  her  face  was  serious,  but  her  mischievous 
ayes  made  a  confederate  of  me. 

"  He's  in  an  awful  rage  ! "  she  said.  "  I'm  afraid 
fhere  will  certainlv  be  a  row." 

A  row  there   certainly  was,  but   it  was   in  the 


The  Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       227 

cavern  of  the  ice-house,  where  the  fox  had  evi- 
dently been  discovered.  Miss  Sally  suddenly  flung 
Moonlighter's  reins  to  me  and  slipped  off  his 
back. 

"  Hold  him  ! "  she  said,  and  dived  into  the  door- 
way under  the  overhanging  branches. 

Things  happened  after  that  with  astonishing 
simultaneousness.  There  was  a  shrill  exclamation 
from  Miss  Sally,  the  inner  door  was  slammed  and 
bolted,  and  at  one  and  the  same  moment  the 
fox  darted  from  the  entry,  and  was  away  into  the 
wood  before  one  could  wink. 

"  What's  happened  ?  "  I  called  out,  playing  the 
refractory  Moonlighter  like  a  salmon. 

Miss  Sally  appeared  at  the  doorway,  looking  half 
scared  and  half  delighted. 

"  I've  bolted  him  in,  and  I  won't  let  him  out  till 
he  promises  to  be  good  !  I  was  only  just  in  time  to 
slam  the  door  after  the  fox  bolted  out ! " 

"Great  Scott !  "  I  said  helplessly.' 

Miss  Sally  vanished  again  into  the  passage,  and 
the  imprisoned  hounds  continued  to  express  their 
emotions  in  the  echoing  vault  of  the  ice-house. 
Their  master  remained  mute  as  the  dead,  and  I 
trembled. 

"  Flurry  1 "  I  heard  Miss  Sally  say.  "  Flurry,  I— 
I've  locked  you  in  ! " 

This  self-evident  piece  of  information  met  with 
no  response. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  why?" 

A  keener  note  seemed  to  indicate  that  a  hound 
had  been  Kicked. 


228     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  .^.M. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  you  answer  me  or  not, 
I'm  going  to  tell  you  !  " 


FLURRY,   I— I'VE   LOCKED  YOU   IN  I M 


There  was  a  pause ;  apparently  telling  him  was 
not  as  simple  as  had  been  expected. 

"  I  won't  let  you  out  till  you  promise  me 
something.  Ah,  Flurry,  don't  be  so  cross  !  What 
do  you  say  ? Oh,  that's  a  ridiculous  thing 


Policy  of  the  Closed  Door       229 

to  say.  You  know  quite  well  it's  not  on  his 
account ! " 

There  was  another  considerable  pause. 

"  Flurry  ! "  said  Miss  Sally  again,  in  tones  that 
would  have  wiled  a  badger  from  his  earth.  "  Dear 
Flurry " 

At  this  point  I  hurriedly  flung  Moonlighter's 
bridle  over  a  branch  and  withdrew. 

My  own  subsequent  adventures  are  quite  im- 
material, until  the  moment  when  I  encountered 
Miss  Sally  on  the  steps  of  the  hall  door  at  Castle 
Knox. 

"  I'm  just  going  in  to  take  off  these  wet  things," 
she  said  airily. 

This  was  no  way  to  treat  a  confederate. 

"  Well  ?  "   I  said,  barring  her  progress.. 

"Oh — he — he  promised.  It's  all  right,"  she 
replied,  rather  breathlessly. 

There  was  no  one  about ;  I  waited  resolutely  for 
further  information.  It  did  not  come. 

"  Did  he  try  to  make  his  own  terms  ? "  said  I, 
looking  hard  at  her. 

"Yes,  he  did."     She  tried  to  pass  me. 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 

"  I  refused  them  ! "  she  said,  with  the  sudden 
stagger  of  a  sob  in  her  voice,  as  she  escaped  into 
the  house. 

Now  what  on  earth  was  Sally  Knox  crying 
about  ? 


X 

THE   HOUSE  OF  FAHY 

OTHING  could  shake  the 
conviction  of  Maria  that 
she  was  by  nature  and 
by  practice  a  house  dog. 
Every  one  of  Shreelane's 
many  doors  had,  at  one 
time  or  another,  slammed 
upon  her  expulsion,  and 
each  one  of  them  had 
j  seen  her  stealthy,  irrepressible  return  to  the 
sphere  that  she  felt  herself  so  eminently 
qualified  to  grace.  For  her  the  bone,  thriftily 
interred  by  Tim  Connor's  terrier,  was  a  mere 
diversion  ;  even  the  fruitage  "of  the  ^ashpit  had 
little  charm  for  an  accomplished  habitue  of  the 
kitchen.  She  knew  to  a  nicety  which  of  the 
doors  could  be  burst  open  by  assault,  at  which 
it  was  necessary  to  whine  sycophantically  ;  and 
the  clinical  thermometer  alone  could  furnish  a 
parallel  for  her  perception  of  mood  in  those  in 
authority.  In  the  case  of  Mrs.  Cadogan  she  knew 
that  there  were  seasons  when  instant  and  complete 
self-effacement  was  the  only  course  to  pursue  ; 


House  of  Fahy  231 

therefore  when,  on  a  certain  morning  in  July,  on 
my  way  through  the  downstairs  regions  to  my 
office,  I  saw  her  approach  the  kitchen  door  with 
her  usual  circumspection,  and,  on  hearing  her 
name  enunciated  indignantly  by  my  cook,  with- 
draw swiftly  to  a  city  of  refuge  at  the  back  of  the 
hayrick,  I  drew  my  own  conclusions. 

Had  she  remained,  as  I  did,  she  would  have 
heard  the  disclosure  of  a  crime  that  lay  more 
heavily  on  her  digestion  than  her  conscience. 

"  I  can't  put  a  thing  out  o'  me  hand  but  he's 
watching  me  to  whip  it  away  !  "  declaimed  Mrs. 
Cadogan,  with  all  the  disregard  of  her  kind  for 
the  accident  of  sex  in  the  brute  creation.  .  "'Twas 
only  last  night  I  was  back  in  the  scullery  when  I 
heard  Bridget  let  a  screech,  and  there  was  me 
brave  dog  up  on  the  table  eating  the  roast  beef 
that  was  after  coming  out  from  the  dinner  ! " 

"  Brute  ! "  interjected  Philippa,  with  what  I  well 
knew  to  be  a  simulated  wrath. 

"And  I  had  planned  that  bit  of  beef  for  the 
luncheon,"  continued  Mrs.  Cadogan  in  impas- 
sioned lamentation,  "  the  way  we  wouldn't  have 
to  inthrude  on  the  cold  turkey  !  Sure  he  has  it 
that  dhragged,  that  all  we  can  do  with  it  now  is 
run  it  through  the  mincing  machine  for  the  Major's 
sandwiches." 

At  this  appetising  suggestion  I  thought  fit  to 
intervene  in  the  deliberations. 

"  One  thing,"  I  said  to  Philippa  afterwards,  as  I 
wrapped  up  a  bottle  of  Yanatas  in  a  Cardigan 
jacket  and  rammed  it  into  an  already  apoplectic 


132     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Gladstone  bag,  "that  I  do  draw  the  line  at,  is 
taking  that  dog  with  us.  .  The  whole  business  is 
black  enough  as  it  is." 

"  Dear,"  said  my  wife,  looking  at  me  with  almost 
clairvoyant  abstraction,  "  I  could  manage  a  second 
evening  dress  if  you  didn't  mind  putting  my  tea- 
jacket  in  your  portmanteau." 

Little,  thank  Heaven  1  as  I  know  about  yachting, 
I  knew  enough  to  make  pertinent  remarks  on  the 
incongruity  of  an  ancient  6o-ton  hireling  and  a 
fleet  of  smart  evening  dresses  ;  but  none  the  less 
I  left  a  pair  of  indispensable  boots  behind,  and 
the  tea-jacket  went  into  my  portmanteau. 

It  is  doing  no  more  than  the  barest  justice  to 
the  officers  of  the  Royal  Navy  to  say  that,  so  far 
as  I  know  them,  they  cherish  no  mistaken  en- 
thusiasm for  a  home  on  the  rolling  deep  when  a 
home  anywhere  else  "  presents  itself.  Bernard 
Shute  had  unfortunately  proved  an  exception  to 
this  rule.  During  the  winter,  the  invitation  to  go 
for  a  cruise  in  the  yacht  that  was  in  process  of 
building  for  him  hung  over  me  like  a  cloud ;  a 
timely  strike  in  the  builder's  yard  brought  a  respite, 
and,  in  fact,  placed  the  completion  of  the  yacht 
at  so  safe  a  distance  that  I  was  betrayed  into 
specious  regrets,  echoed  with  an  atrocious  sincerity 
by  -Philippa.  Into  a  life  pastorally  compounded 
of  Petty  Sessions  and  lawn-tennis  parties,  retribu- 
tion fell  when  it  was  least  expected.  Bernard 
Shute  hired  a  yacht  in  Queenstown,  and  one  short 
week  afterwards  the  worst  had  happened,  and  we 
were  packing  our  things  for  a  cruise  in  her,  the 


Fahy 

only  alleviation  being  the  knowledge  that,  whether 
by  sea  or  land,  I  was  bound  to  return  to  my  work 
in  four  days. 

We  left  Shreelane  at  twelve  o'clock,  a  specially 
depressing  hour  for  a  start,  when  breakfast  has 
died  in  you,  and  lunch  is  still  remote.  My  last 
act  before  mounting  the  dogcart  was  to  put  her 
collar  and  chain  on  Maria  and  immure  her  in  the 
potato-house,  whence,  as  we  drove  down  the 
avenue,  her  wails  rent  the  heart  of  Philippa  and 
rejoiced  mine.  It  was  a  very  hot  day,  with  a 
cloudless  sky ;  the  dust  lay  thick  on  the  white 
road,  and  on  us  also,  as,  during  two  baking  hours, 
we  drove  up  and  down  the  long  hills  and  remem- 
bered things  that  had  been  left  behind,  and  grew 
hungry  enough  to  eat  sandwiches  that  tasted 
suspiciously  of  roast  beef. 

The  yacht  was  moored  in  Clountiss  Harbour ; 
we  drove  through  the  village  street,  a  narrow 
and  unlovely  thoroughfare,  studded  with  public- 
houses,  swarming  with  children  and  poultry,  down 
through  an  ever-growing  smell  of  fish,  to  the 
quay. 

Thence  we  first  viewed  our  fate,  a  dingy-looking 
schooner,  and  the  hope  I  had  secretly  been 
nourishing  that  there  was  not  wind  enough  for 
her  to  start,  was  dispelled  by  the  sight  of  her 
topsail  going  up.  More  than  ever  at  that  radiant 
moment  —  as  the  reflection  of  the  white  sail 
quivered  on  the  tranquil  blue,  and  the  still 
water  flattered  all  it  reproduced,  like  a  fashion- 
able photographer  —  did  I  agree  with  George 


234     S°me  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Herbert's  advice,  "  Praise  the  sea,  but  stay  on 
shore." 

"We  must  hail  her,  I  suppose,"  I  said  drearily. 
I  assailed  the  Eileen  Oge,  such  being  her  inappro- 
priate name,  with  desolate  cries,  but  achieved  no 
immediate  result  beyond  the  assembling  of  some 
village  children  round  us  and  our  luggage. 

"  Mr.  Shute  and  the  two  ladies  was  after  screech- 
ing here  for  the  boat  awhile  ago,"  volunteered  a 
horrid  little  girl,  whom  I  had  already  twice 
frustrated  in  the  attempt  to  seat  an  infant 
relative  on  our  bundle  of  rugs.  "  Timsy  Halla- 
hane  says  'twould  be  as  good  for  them  to  stay 
ashore,  for  there  isn't  as  much  wind  outside  as'd 
out  a  candle." 

With  this  encouraging  statement  the  little  girl 
devoted  herself  to  the  alternate  consumption  of 
gooseberries  and  cockles. 

All  things  come  to  those  who  wait,  and  to 
us  arrived  at  length  the  gig  of  the  Eileen  Oge, 
and  such,.^  by  this  time,  were  the  temperature 
and  the  smells  of  the  quay  that  I  actually  wel- 
comed the  moment  that  found  iis  leaving  it  for 
the  yacht. 

"Now,  Sinclair,  aren't  you  glad  we  came?" 
remarked  Philippa,  as  the  clear  green  water 
deepened  under  us,  and  a  light  briny  air  came 
coolly  round  us  with  the  motion  of  the  boat. 

As  she  spoke,  there  was  an  outburst  of  screams 
from  the  children  on  the  quay,  followed  by  a 
heavy  splash. 

"  Oh  stop  ! "  cried   Philippa  in  an  agony  ;   "  one 


'The  House  of  Fahy  235 

of  them  has  fallen  in !  I  can  see  its  poor  little 
brown  head  ! " 

"  Tis  a  dog,  ma'am,"  said  briefly  the  man  who 
was  rowing  stroke. 

"  One  might  have  wished  it  had  been  that  little 
girl,"  said  I,  as  I  steered  to  the  best  of  my  ability 
for  the  yacht. 

We  had  traversed  another  twenty  yards  or  so, 
when  Philippa,  in  a  voice  in  which  horror  and 
triumph  were  strangely  blended,  exclaimed,  "  She's 
following  us  1 " 

"  Who  ?     The  little  girl  ?  "  I  asked  callously. 

"  No,"  returned  Philippa  ;  "  worse." 

I  looked  round,  not  without  a  prevision  of  what 
I  was  to  see,  and  beheld  the  faithful  Maria  swim- 
ming steadily  after  us,  with  her  brown  muzzle 
thrust  out  in  front  of  her,  ripping  through  the 
reflections  like  a  plough. 

"  Go  home  ! "  I  roared,  standing  up  and  ges- 
ticulating in  fury  that  I  well  knew  to  be  impotent 
"  Go  home,  you  brute  ! " 

Maria  redoubled  her  efforts,  and  Philippa  mur- 
mured uncontrollably — 

"Well,  she  is  a  dear!" 

Had  I  had  a  sword  in  my  hand  I  should  un- 
doubtedly have  slain  Philippa  ;  but  before  I  could 
express  my  sentiments  in  any  way,  a  violent  shock 
flung  me  endways  on  top  of  the  man  who  was 
pulling  stroke.  Thanks  to  Maria,  we  had  reached 
our  destination  all  unawares ;  the  two  men,  re- 
spectfully awaiting  my  instructions,  had  rowed  on 
with  disciplined  steadiness,  and,  as  a  result,  we 


236     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

had  rammed  the  Eileen  Oge  amidships,  with  a 
vigour  that  brought  Mr.  Shute  tumbling  up  the 
companion  to  see  what  had  happened. 


SHE'S   FOLLOWING  US  !  " 


"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?"  he  said,  with  his  mouth 
full.  "  Come  in  ;  don't  knock  !  Delighted  to  see 
you,  Mrs.  Yeates  ;  don't  apologise.  There's  no- 
thing like  a  hired  ship  after  all — it's  quite  jolly 


The  House  of  Fahy  237 

to  see  the  splinters  fly — shows  you're  getting  your 
money's  worth.     Hullo  !  who's  this  ?  " 

This  was  Maria,  feigning  exhaustion,  and  noisily 
treading  water  at  the  boat's  side. 

"  What,  poor  old  Maria  ?  Wanted  to  send  her 
ashore,  did  he  ?  Heartless  ruffian  ! " 

Thus,  was  Maria  installed  on  board  the  Eileen 
Oge,  and  the  element  of  fatality  had  already  begun 
to  work. 

There  was  just  enough  wind  to  take  us  out 
of  Clountiss  Harbour,  and  with  the  last  of  the 
out-running  tide  we  crept  away  to  the  west. 
The  party  on  board  consisted  of  our  host's  sister, 
Miss  Cecilia  Shute,  Miss  Sally  Knox,  and  our- 
selves ;  we  sat  about  in  conventional  attitudes  in 
deck  chairs  and  on  adamantine  deck  bosses,  and 
I  talked  to  Miss  Shute  with  feverish  brilliancy, 
and  wished  the  patience-cards  were  not  in  the. 
cabin  ;  I  knew  the  supreme  importance  of  keep- 
ing one's  mind  occupied,  but  I  dared  not  face 
the  cabin.  There  was  a  long,  almost  imper- 
ceptible swell,  with  little  queer  seabirds  that  I 
have  never  seen  before — and  trust  I  never  shall 
again — dotted  about  on  its  glassy  slopes.  The 
coast-line  looked  low  and  grey  and  dull,  as,  I 
think,  coast- lines  always  do  when  viewed  from 
the  deep.  The  breeze /that  Bernard  had  pro- 
mised us  we  should  find  outside  was  barely 
enough  to  keep  us  moving.  The  burning 
sun  of  four  o'clock  focussed  its  heat  -  on  the 
deck ;  BernarcJ  stood  up  among  us,  engaged 
in  .what  hp  was  pleased  to  call  "  handling  the 


238     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

stick/'  and  beamed  almost  as  offensively  as  the 
sun. 

"  Oh,  we're  slipping  along/.'  he  said,  his  odiously 
healthy  face  glowing  like  copper  against  the  blaz- 
ing blue  sky.  "  You're  going  a  great  deal  faster 
than  you  think,  and  the  men  say  we'll  pick  up  a 
breeze  once  we're  round  the  Mizen." 

I  made  no  reply ;  I  was  not  feeling  ill,  merely 
thoroughly  disinclined  for  conversation.  Miss  Sally 
smiled  wanly,  and  closing  her  eyes,  laid  her  head 
on  Philippa's  knee.  Instructed  by  a  dread  free- 
masonry, I  knew  that  for  her  the  moment  had 
come  when  she  could  no  longer  bear  to  see  the 
rail  rise  slowly  above  the  horizon,  and  with  an 
equal  rhythmic  slowness  sink  below  it.  Maria 
moved  restlessly  to  and  fro,  panting  and  yawn- 
ing, and  occasionally  rearing  herself  on  her  hind- 
legs  against  the  side,  and  staring  forth  with  wild 
eyes  at  the  headachy  sliding  of  the  swell.  Per- 
haps she  was  meditating  suicide  ;  if  so  I  sympa- 
thised with  her,  and  since  she  was  obviously 
going  to  be  sick  I  trusted  that  she  would  bring 
off  the  suicide  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 
Philippa  and  Miss  Shute  sat  in  unaffected  serenity 
in  deck  chairs,  and  stitched  at  white  things — 
teacloths  for  the  Eileen  Oge,  I  believe,  things 
in  themselves  a  mockery — and  talked  untiringly, 
with  that  singular  indifference  to  their  marine 
surroundings  that  I  have  often  observed  in  ladies 
who  are  not  sea-sick.  It  always  stirs  me  afresh 
to  wonder  why  they  have  not  remained  ashore  ; 
nevertheless,  I  prefer  their  tranquil  and  total  lack 


The  House  of  Fahy  239 

of  interest  in  seafaring  matters  to  the  blatant 
Vikingism  of  the  average  male  who  is  similarly 
placed. 

Somehow,  I  know  not  how,  we  crawled  on- 
wards, and  by  about  five  o'clock  we  had  rounded 
the  Mizen,  a  gaunt  spike  of  a  headland  that  starts 
up  like  a  boar's  tusk  above  the  ragged  lip  of 
the  Irish  coast,  and  the  Eileen  Oge  was  be- 
ginning to  swing  and  wallop  in  the  long  sluggish 
rollers  that  the  American  liners  know  and  despise. 
I  was  very  far  from  despising  them.  Down  in 
the  west,  resting  on  the  sea's  rim,  a  purple  bank 
of  clouds  lay  awaiting  the  descent  of  the  sun,  as 
seductively  and  as  malevolently  as  a  damp  bed 
at  a  hotel  awaits  a  traveller. 

The  end,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  came  at  tea- 
time.  The  meal  had  been  prepared  in  the  saloon, 
and  thither  it  became  incumbent  on  me  to  ac- 
company my  hostess  and  my  wife.  Miss  Sally, 
long  past  speech,  opened,  at  the  suggestion  of 
tea,  one  eye,  and  disclosed  a  look  of  horror.  As 
I  tottered  down  the  companion  I  respected  her 
good  sense.  The  Eileen  Oge  had  been  built 
early  in  the  sixties,  and  head-room  was  not  her 
strong  point  ;  neither,  apparently,  was  ventilation. 
I  began  by  dashing  my  forehead  against  the  frame 
of  the  cabin  door,  and  then,  shattered  morally 
and  physically,  entered  into  the  atmosphere  of 
the  pit.  After  which  things,  and  the  sight  of  a 
plate  of  rich  cake,  I  retired  in  good  order  to  my 
cabin,  and  began  upon  the  Yanatas. 

I    pass   over  some   painful  intermediate  details 


240     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

and  resume  at  the  moment  when  Bernard  Shute 
woke  me  from  a  drugged  slumber  to  announce 
that  dinner  was  over. 

"  It's  been  raining  pretty  hard,"  he  said,  swaying 
easily  with  the  swing  of  the  yacht ;  "  but  we've 
got  a  clinking  breeze,  and  we  ought  to  make 
Lurriga  Harbour  to-night.  There's  good  anchor- 
age there,  the  men  say.  They're  rather  a  lot  of 
swabs,  but  they  know  this  coast,  and  I  don't.  I 
took  'em  over  with  the  ship  all  standing." 

"  Where  are  we  now  ? "  I  asked,  something 
heartened  by  the  blessed  word  "anchorage." 

"  You're  running  up  Sheepskin  Bay — it's  a 
thundering  big  bay ;  Lurriga's  up  at  the  far  end 
of  it,  and  the  night's  as  -black  as  the  inside  of  a 
cow.  Dig  out  and  get  something  to  eat,  and 
come  on  deck — ; — What  1  no  dinner  ?  " — I  had 
spoken  morosely,  with  closed  eyes — "  Oh,  rot ! 
you're  on  an  even  keel  now.  I  promised  Mrs. 
Yeates  I'd  make  you  dig  out.  You're  as  bad  as 
a  soldier  officer  that  we  were  ferrying  to  Malta 
one  time  in  the  old  Taniar.  He  got  one  leg 
out  of  his  berth  when  we  were  going  down  the 
Channel,  and  he  was  too  sick  to  pull  it  in  again 
till  we  got  to  Gib  ! " 

I  compromised  on  a  drink  and  some  biscuits. 
The  ship  was  certainly  steadier,  and  I  felt  suffi- 
ciently restored  to  climb  weakly  on  deck.  It  was 
by  this  time  past  ten  o'clock,  and  heavy  clouds 
blotted  out  the  last  of  the  afterglow,  and  smothered 
the  stars  at  their  birth.  A  wet  warm  wind  was 
lashing  the  Eileen  Oge  up  a  wide  estuary  ;  the 


The  House  of  Fahy  241 

waves  were  hunting  her,  hissing  under  her  stern, 
racing  up  to  her,  crested  with  the  white  glow  of 
phosphorus,  as  she  fled  before  them.  I  dimly 
discerned  in  the  greyness  the  more  solid  greyness 
of  the  shore.  The  mainsail  loomed  out  into  the 
darkness,  nearly  at  right  angles  to  the  yacht,  with 
the  boom  creaking  as  the  following  wind  gave 
us  an  additional  shove.  I  know  nothing  of  yacht 
sailing,  but  I  can  appreciate  the  grand  fact  that 
in  running  before  a  wind  the  boom  is  removed 
from  its  usual  sphere  of  devastation. 

I  sat  down  beside  a  bundle  of  rugs  that  I  had 
discovered  to  be  my  wife,  and  thought  of  my 
whitewashed  office  at  Shreelane  and  its  bare  but 
stationary  floor,  with  a  yearning  that  was  little 
short  of  passion.  Miss  Sally  had  long  since 
succumbed  ;  Miss  Shute  was  tired,  and  had  turned 
in  soon  after  dinner. 

"  I  suppose  she's  overdone  by  the  delirious  gaiety 
of  the  afternoon,"  said  I  acridly,  in  reply  to  this 
information. 

Philip'pa  cautiously  poked  forth  her  head  from 
the  rugs,  like  a  tortoise  from  under  its  .shell,  to 
see  that  Bernard,  who  was  standing  near  the 
steersman,  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  Ip  all  your  life,  Sinclair,"  she  said  impressively, 
"you  never  knew  such  a  time  as  Cecilia  and  I 
.have  had  down  there  !  We've  had  to  wash  every- 
thing in  the  cabins,  and  remake  the  beds,  and 
hurl  the  sheets  away — they  were  covered  with 
black  finger-marks — and  while  we  were  doing 
that,  in  came  the  creature  that  calls  himself  the 

Q 


242     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

steward,  to  ask  if  he  might  get  something  of  his 
that  he  had  left  in  Miss  Shute's  'birthplace'  1  and 
he  rooted  out  from  under  Cecilia's  mattress  a 
pair  of  socks  and  half  a  loaf  of  bread  ! " 

"Consolation  to  Miss  Shute  to  know  her  berth 
has  been  well  aired,"  I  said,  with  the  nearest 
approach  to  enjoyment  I  had  known  since  I  came 
on  board ;  "  and  has  Sally  made  any  equally 
interesting  discoveries  ?  " 

"  She  said  she  didn't  care,  what  her  bed  was 
like ;  she  just  dropped  into  it.  I  must  say  I  am 
sorry  for  her,"  went  on  Philippa  ;  "  she  hated 
coming.  Her  mother  made  her  accept." 

"  I  wonder  if  Lady  Knox  will  make  her  accept 
him  !"  I  said.  "  How  often  has  Sally  refused  him, 
does  any  one  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  about  once  a  week,"  replied  Philippa ; 
"just  the  way  I  kept  on  refusing  you,  you 
know  ! " 

Something  cold  and  wet  was  thrust  into  my 
hand,  and  the  aroma  of  damp  dog  arose  upon  the 
night  air  ;  Maria  had  issued  from  some  lair  at 
the  sound  of  our  voices,  and  was  now,  with 
palsied  tremblings,  slowly  trying  to  drag  herself 
on  to  my  lap.  - 

"  Poor  thing,  she's  been  so  dreadfully  ill,"  said 
Philippa.  "  Don't  send  her  away,  Sinclair.  Mr. 
Shute  found  her  lying  on  his  berth  not  able  to 
move  ;  didn't  you,  Mr.  Shute  ?  " 

"  She  found  out  that  she  was  able  to  move," 
said  Bernard,  who  had  crossed  to  our  side  of 
the  deck  ;  "  it  was  somehow  borne  in  upon  her 


The  House  of  Fahy  243 

when  I  got  at  her  with  a  boot-tree.  I  wouldn't 
advise  you  to  keep  her  in  your  lap,  Yeates.  She 
stole  half  a  ham.  after  dinner,  and  she  might  take 
a  notion  to  make  the  only  reparation  in  her 
power." 

I  stood  up  and  stretched  myself  stiffly.  The 
wind  was  freshening,  and  though  the  growing 
smoothness  of  the  water  told  that  we  were  making 
shelter  of  some  kind,  for  all  that  I  could  see  of 
land  we  might  as  well  have  been  in  mid-ocean. 
The  heaving  lift  of  the  deck  under  my  feet,  and 
the  lurching  swing  when  a  stronger  gust  filled  the 
ghostly  sails,  were  more  disquieting  to  me  in 
suggestion  than  in  reality,  and,  to  my  surprise, 
I  found  something  almost  enjoyable  in  rushing 
through  darkness  at  the  pace  at  which  we  were 
going. 

"  We're  a  small  bit  short  of  the  mouth  of  Lurriga 
Harbour  yet,  sir,"  said  the  man  who  was  steering, 
in  reply  to  a  question  from  Bernard.  "  I  can  see 
the  shore  well  enough  ;  sure  I  know  every  yard 
of  wather  in  the  bay " 

As  he  spoke  he  sat  down  abruptly  and  violently  ; 
so  did  Bernard,  so  did  I.  The  bundle  that  con- 
tained Philippa  collapsed  upon  Maria. 

"Main  sheet !"  bellowed  Bernard,  on  his  feet  "in 
an  instant,  as  the  boom  swung  in  and  out  again 
with  a  terrific  jerk.  "We're  ashore  !  " 

In  response  to  this  order  three  men  in  succession 
fell  over  me  while  I  was  still  struggling  on  the 
deck,  and  something  that  was  either  Philippa-'s 
elbow,  or  the  acutest  angle  of  Maria's  skull,  hit 


244     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

me  in  the  face.  As  I  found  my  feet  the  cabin 
skylight  was  suddenly  illuminated  by  a  wavering 
glare.  I  got  across  the  slanting  deck  somehow, 
through  the  confusion  of  shouting  men  and  the 
flapping  thunder  of  the  sails,  and  saw  through  the 
skylight  a  gush  of  flame  rising  from  a  pool  of  fire 
around  an  overturned  lamp  on  the  swing-table. 
I  avalanched  down  the  companion  and  was  squan- 
dered like  an  avalanche  on  the  floor  at  the  foot  of 
it.  Even  as  I  fell,  McCarthy  the  steward  dragged 
the  strip  of  carpet  from  the  cabin  floor  and  threw 
it  on  the  blaze ;  I  found  myself,  in  some  unex- 
plained way,  snatching  a  railway  rug  from  Miss 
Shute  and  applying  it  to  the  same  purpose,  and 
in  half-a-dozen  seconds  we  had  smothered  the 
flame  and  were  left  in  total  darkness.  The  most 
striking  feature  of  the  situation  was  the  immovability 
of  the  yacht. 

"  Great  Ned  ! "  said  McCarthy,  invoking  I  know 
not  what  heathen  deity,  "  it  is  on  the  bottom  of 
the  say  we  are  ?  Well,  whether  or  no,  thank  God 
we  have  the  fire  quinched  !  " 

We  were  not,  so  far,  at  the  bottom  of, the  sea, 
but  during  the  next  ten  minutes  the  chances 
seemed  in  favour  of  our  getting  there.  The  yacht 
had  run  her  bows  upon  a  sunken  ridge  of  rock, 
and  after  a  period  of  feminine  indecision  as  to 
whether  she  were  going  to  slide  off  again,  or 
roll  over  into  deep  water,  she  elected  to  stay 
where  she  was,  and  the  gig  was  lowered  with  all 
speed,  in  order  to  tow  her  off  before  the  tide  left 
her. 


The  House  of  Fahy  245 

My  recollection  of  this  interval  is  but  hazy,  but 
I  can  certify  that  in  ten  minutes  I  had  swept  to- 
gether an  assortment  of  necessaries  and  knotted 
them  into  my  counterpane,  had  broken  the  string 
of  my  eye-glass,  and  lost  my  silver  matchbox  ;  had 
found  Philippa's  curling-tongs  and  put  them  in 
my  pocket ;  had  carted  all  the  luggage  on  deck ; 
had  then  applied  myself  to  the  manly  duty  of 
reassuring  the  ladies,  and  had  found  Miss  Shute 
merely  bored,  Philippa  enthusiastically  anxious  to 
be  allowed  to  help  to  pull  the  gig,  and  Miss  Sally 
radiantly  restored  to  health  and  spirits  by  the  ces- 
sation of  movement  and  the  probability  of  an  early 
escape  from  the  yacht. 

The  rain  had,  with  its  usual  opportuneness, 
begun  again  ;  we  stood  in  it  under  umbrellas,  and 
watched  the  gig  jumping  on  its  tow-rope  like  a 
dog  on  a  string,  as  the  crew  plied  the  labouring 
oar  in  futile  endeavour  to  move  the  Eileen  Oge. 
We  had  run  on  the  rock  at  half-tide,  and  the  in- 
creasing sjant  of  the  deck  as  the  tide  fell  brought 
home  to  us  the  pleasing  probability  that  at  low 
water — viz.  about  2  A.M. — we  should  roll  off  the 
rock  and  go  to  the  bottom.  Had  Bernard  Shute 
wished  to  show  himself  in  the  most  advantageous 
light  to  Miss  Sally  he  could  scarcely  have  bettered 
the  situation,  I  looked  on  in  helpless  respect  while 
he  whom  I  had  known  as  the  scourge  of  the 
hunting  field,  the  terror  of  the  shooting  party,  rose 
to  the  top  of  a  difficult  position  and  kept  there, 
and  my  respect  was,  if  possible,  increased  by  the 
presence  of  mind  with  which  he  availed  himself 


246     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

of  all  critical  moments  to  place  a  protecting  arm 
round  Miss  Knox. 

By  about  i  A.M.  the  two  gaffs  with  which 
Bernard  had  contrived  to  shore  up  •  the  slowly 
heeling  yacht  began  to  show  signs  of  yielding,  and, 
in  approved  shipwreck  fashion,  we  took  to  the 
boats,  the  yacht's  crew  in  the  gig  remaining  in 
attendance  on  what  seemed  likely  to  be  the  last 
moments  of  the  Eileen  Oge,  while  we,  in  the 
dinghy,  sought  for  the  harbour.  Owing  to  the 
tilt  of  the  yacht's  deck,  and  the  roughness  of  the 
broken  water  round  her,  getting  into  the  boat  was 
no  mean  feat  of  gymnastics.  Miss  Sally  did  it  like 
a  bird,  alighting  in  the  inevitable  arms  of  Bernard  ; 
Miss  Shute  followed  very  badly,  but,  by  innate 
force  of  character,  successfully  ;  Philippa,  who  was 
enjoying  every  moment  of  her  shipwreck,  came 
last,  launching  herself  into  the  dinghy  with  my 
silver  shoe-horn  clutched  in  one  hand,  and  in  the 
other  the  tea-basket.  I  heard  the  hollow  clank 
of  its  tin  cups  as  she  sprang,  and  appreciated  the 
heroism  with  which  Bernard  received  one  of  its 
corners  in  his  waist.  How  or  when  Maria  left 
the  yacht  I  know  not,  but  when  I  applied  myself 
to  the  bow  oar  I  led  off  with  three  crabs,  owing 
to  the  devotion  with  which  she  thrust  her  head  into 
my  lap. 

I  am  no  judge  of  these  matters,  but  in  my 
opinion  we  ought  to  have"  been  swamped  several 
times  during  that  row.  There  was  nothing  but 
the  phosphorus  of  breaking  waves  to  tell  us  where 
the  rocks  were,  and  nothing  to  show  where  the 


The  House  of  Fahy  247 

harbour  was  except  a  solitary  light,  a  masthead 
lighi^as  we  supposed.  The  skipper  had  assured 
us  that  we  could  not  go  wrong  if  we  kept  "a 
westerly  course  with  a  little  northing  in  it ;  "  but  it 
seemed  simpler  to  steer  for  the  light,  and  we  did 
so.  The  dinghy  climbed  along  over  the  waves 
with  an  agility  that  was  safer  than  it  felt ;  the  rain 
fell  without  haste  and  without  rest,  the  oars  were 
as  inflexible  as  crowbars,  and  somewhat  resembled 
them  in  shape  and  weight ;  nevertheless,  it  was 
Elysium  when  compared  with  the  afternoon  leisure 
of  the  deck  of  the  Eileen  Oge. 

At  last  we  came,  unexplainably,  into  smooth 
water,  and  it  was  at  about  this  time  that  we  were 
first  aware  that  the  darkness  was  less  dense  than  it 
had  been,  and  that  the  rain  had  ceased.  By  im- 
perceptible degrees  a  greyness  touched  the  back 
of  the  waves,  more  a  dreariness  than  a  dawn, 
but  more  welcome  than  thousands  of  gold  and 
silver.  I  looked  over  my  shoulder  and  discerned 
vague  bulky  things  ahead  ;  as  I  did  so,  my  oar  was 
suddenly  wrapped  in  seaweed.  We  crept  on  ; 
Maria  stood  up  with  her  paws  on  the  gunwale,  and 
\vhined  in  high  agitation.  The  dark  objects  ahead 
resolved  themselves  into  rocks,  and  without  more 
ado  Maria  pitched  herself  into  the  water.  In  half 
a  minute  we  heard  her  shaking  herself  on  shore. 
We  slid  on  ;  the  water  swelled  under  the  dinghy, 
and  lifted  her  keel  on  to  grating  gravel. 

"We  couldn't  have  done  it  better  if  we'd  been 
the  Hydrographer  Royal,"  said  Bernard,  wading 
knee-deep  in  a  light  wash  of  foam,  with  the  painter 


248     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

in  his  hand  ;  "  but  all  the  same,  that  masthead  light 
is  some  one's  bedroom  candle  1 " 

We  landed,  hauled  up  the  boat,  and  then  feebly 
sat  down  on  our  belongings  to  review  the  situation, 
and  Maria  came  and  shook  herself  over  each  of  us 
in  turn.  We  had  run  into  a  little  cove,  guided 
by  the  philanthropic  beam  of  a  candle  in  the  upper 
window  of  a  house  about  a  hundred  yards  away. 
The  candle  still  burned  on,  and  the  anaemic  day- 
light exhibited  to  us  our  surroundings,  and  we 
debated  as  to  whether  we  could  at  2.45  A.M. 
present  ourselves  as  objects  of  compassion  to  the 
owner  of  the  candle.  I  need  hardly  say  that  it  was 
the  ladies  who  decided  on  making  the  attempt, 
having,  like  most  of  their  sex,  a  courage  incom- 
parably superior  to  ours  in  such  matters ;  Bernard 
and  I  had  not  a  grain  of  genuine  compunction  in 
our  souls,  but  we  failed  in  nerve. 

We  trailed  up  from  the  cove,  laden  with  emi- 
grants' bundles,  stumbling  on  wet  rocks  in  the  half- 
light,  and  succeeded  in  making  our  way  to  the 
house. 

It  was  a  small  two-storied  building,  of  that 
hideous  breed  of  architecture  usually  dedicated  to 
the  rectories  of  the  Irish  Church  ;  we  felt  that 
there  was  something  friendly  in  the  presence  of 
a  pair  of  carpet  slippers  in  the  porch,  but  there 
was  a  hint  of  exclusiveness  in  the  fact  that  there 
was  no  knocker  and  that  the  bell  was  broken.  The 
light  still  burned  in  the  .upper  window,  and  with  a 
faltering  hand  I  flung  gravel  at  the  glass.  This 
summons  was  appallingly  responded  to  by  a  shriek  ; 


The  House  of  Fahy  249 

there  was  a  flutter  of  white  at  the  panes,  and  the 
candle  was  extinguished. 

"  Come  away  ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Shute,  "  it's  a 
lunatic  asylum  1 " 

We  stood  our  ground,  however,  and  presently 
heard  a  footstep  within,  a  blind  was  poked  aside 
in  another  window,  and  we  were  inspected  by 
an  unseen  inmate  ;  then  some^  one  came  down- 
stairs, and  the  hall  door  was  opened  by  a  small 
man  with  a  bald  head  and  a  long  sandy  beard. 
He  was  attired  in  a  brief  dressing-gown,  and  on  his 
shoulder  sat,  like  an  angry  ghost,  a  large  white 
cockatoo.  Its  crest  was  up  on  end,  its  beak  was  a 
good  two  inches  long  and  curved  like  a  Malay  kris  ; 
its  claws  gripped  the  little  man's  shoulder.  Maria 
uttered  in  the  background  a  low  and  thunderous 
growl. 

"  Don't  take  any  notice  of  the  bird,  please,"  said 
the  little  man  nervously,  seeing  our  united  gaze 
fixed  upon  this  apparition  ;  "  he's  extremely  fierce 
if  annoyed." 

The  majority  of  our  party  here  melted  away  to 
either  side  of  the  hall  door,  and  I  was  left  to  do  the 
explaining.  The  tale  of  our  misfortunes  had  its 
due  effect,  and  we  were  ushered  into  a  small 
drawing-room,  our  host  holding  open  the  door 
for  us,  like  a  nightmare  footman  with  bare  shins, 
a  gnome-like  bald  head,  and  an  unclean  spirit 
swaying  on  his  shoulder.  He  opened  the  shutters, 
and  we  sat  decorously  round  the  room,  as  at  an 
afternoon  party,  while  the  situation  was  further 
expounded  on  both  sides.  Our  entertainer,  indeed, 


250     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

favoured  us  with  the  leading  items  of  his  family 
history,  amongst  them  the  facts  that  he  was  a 
Dr.  Fahy  from  Cork,  who  had  taken  somebody's 
rectory  for  the  summer,  and  had  been  prevailed 

on  by  some  of  his 
patients  to  permit 
them  to  join  him  as 
paying  guests. 

"I  said  it  was  a 
lunatic  asylum," 
murmured  Miss 
Shute  to  me. 

"In  point  of  fact," 
went  on  our  host, 
"there  isn't  an 
empty  room  in  the 
house,  which  is  why 
I  can  only  offer 
your  party  the  use 
of  this  room  and  the 
kitchen  fire,  which 
I  make  a  point  of 
keeping  burning  all 
night." 

He  leaned  back 
complacently  in  his 
chair,  and  crossed 
his  legs;  then,  obvi- 

•ously  remembering  his  costume,  sat  bolt  upright 
again.  We  owed  the  guiding  beams  of  the  candle 
to  the  owner  of  the  cockatoo,  an  old  Mrs.  Buck, 
who  was,  we  gathered,  the  most  paying  of  all  the 


OUR   ENTERTAINER 


House  of  Fahy  251 

patients,  and  also,  obviously,  the  one  most  feared 
and  cherished  by  Dr.  Fahy.  "  She  has  a  candle 
burning  all  night  for  the  bird,  and  her  door  open 
to  let  him  walk  about  the  house  when  he  likes," 
said  Dr.  Fahy ;  "  indeed,  I  may  say.  her  passion 
for  him  amounts  to  dementia.  He's  very  fond  of 
me,  and  Mrs.  Fahy's  always  telling  me  I  should 
be  thankful,  as  whatever  he  did  we'd  be  bound 
to  put  up  with  it ! " 

Dr.  Fahy  had  evidently  a  turn  for  conversation 
that  was  unaffected  by  circumstance ;  the  first 
beams  of  the  early  sun  were  lighting  up  the  rep 
chair  covers  before  the  door  closed  upon  his  brown 
dressing-gown,  and  upon  the  stately  white  back 
of  the  cockatoo,  and  the  demoniac  possession  of 
laughter  that  had  wrought  .in  us  during  the  inter- 
view burst  forth  unchecked.  It  was  most  painful 
and  exhausting,  as  such  laughter  always  is  ;  but 
by  far  the  most  serious  part  of  it  was  that  Miss 
Sally,  who  was  sitting  in  the  window,  somehow 
drove  her  elbow  through  a  pane  of  glass,  and 
Bernard,  in  pulling  down  the  blind  to  conceal 
the  damage,  tore  it  off  the  roller. 

There  followed  on  this  catastrophe  a  period 
during  which  reason  tottered  and  Maria  barked 
furiously.  Philippa  was  the  first  to  pull  herself 
together,  and  to  suggest  an  adjournment  to  the 
kitchen  fire  that,  in  honour  of  the  paying  guests, 
was  never  quenched,  and,  respecting  the  repose 
of  the  household,  we  proceeded  thither  with  a 
stealth  that  convinced  Maria  we  were  engaged  in 
a  rat  hunt.  The  boots  of  paying  guests  littered 


252     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

the  floor,  the  debris  of  their  last  repast  covered 
the  table ;  a  cat  in  some  unseen  fastness  crooned 
a  war  song  to  Maria,  who  feigned  uncon- 
sciousness and  fell  to  scientific  research  in  the 
scullery. 

We  roasted  our  boots  at  the  range,  and  Bernard, 
with  all  a  sailor's  gift  for  exploration  and  theft, 
prowled  in  noisome  purlieus  and  emerged  with 
a  jug  of  milk  and  a  lump  of  salt  butter.  No  one 
who  has  not  been  a  burglar  can  at  all  realise 
what  it  was  to  roam  through  Dr.'  Fahy's  basement 
storey,  with  the  rookery  of  paying  guests  asleep 
above,  and  to  feel  that,  so  far,  we  had  repaid  his 
confidence  by  breaking  a  pane  of  glass  and  a 
blind,  and  putting  the  scullery  tap  out  of  order. 
I  have  always  maintained  th^t  there  was  some- 
thing wrong  with  it  before  I  touched  it,  but  the 
fact  remains  that  when  I  had  filled  Philippa's  kettle, 
no  human  power  could  prevail  upon  it  to  stop 
flowing.  For  all  I  know  to  the  contrary  it  is 
running  still. 

It  was  in  the  course  of  our  furtive  return  to  the 
drawing-room  that  we  were  again  confronted  by 
Mrs.  Buck's  cockatoo.  It  was  standing  in  malign 
meditation  on  the  stairs,  and  on  seeing  us  it  rose, 
without  a  word  of  warning,  upon  the  wing,  and 
with  a  long  screech  flung  itself  at  Miss  Sally's 
golden-red  head,  which  a  ray  of  sunlight  had 
chanced  to  illumine.  There  was  a  moment  of 
stampede,  as  the  selected  victim,  pursued  by  the 
cockatoo,  fled  into  the  drawing-room ;  two  chairs 
were  upset  (one,  I  think,  broken),  Miss  Sally 


T/ie  House  of  Fa/iy  253 

enveloped  herself  in  a  window  curtain,  Philippa 
and  Miss  Shute  effaced  themselves  beneath  a  table  ; 
the  cockatoo,  foiled  of  its  prey,  skimmed,  still 
screeching,  round  the  ceiling.  It  was  Bernard 
who,  with  a  well-directed  sofa-cushion,  drove  the 
enemy  from  the  room.  There  was  only  a  chink 
of  the  door  open,  but  the  cockatoo  turned  on 
his  side  as  he  flew,  and  swung  through  it  like  a 
woodcock. 

We  slammed  the  door  behind  him,  and  at  the 
same  instant  there  came  a  thumping  on  the  floor 
overhead,  muffled,  yet  peremptory. 

"That's  Mrs.  Buckl"  said  Miss  Shute,  crawling 
from  under  the  table ;  "  the  room  over  this  is  the 
one  that  had  the  candle  in  it." 

We  sat  for  a  time  in  awful  stillness,  but  nothing 
further  happened,  save  a  distant  shriek  overhead, 
that  told  the  cockatoo  had  sought  and  found 
sanctuary  in  his  owner's  room.  We  had  tea  sotto 
voce,  and  then,  one  by  one,  despite  the  amazing 
discomfort  of  the  drawing-room  chairs,  we  dozed 
off  to  sleep. 

It  was  at  about  five  o'clock  that  I  woke  with 
a  stiff  neck  and  an  uneasy  remembrance  that  I 
had  last  seen  Maria  in  the  kitchen.  The  others, 
looking,  each  of  them,  about  twenty  years  older 
than  their  age,  slept  in  various  attitudes  of  exhaus- 
tion. Bernard  opened  his  eyes  as  I  stole  forth 
to  look  for  Maria,  but  none  of  the  ladies  awoke. 
I  went  down  the  evil-smelling  passage  that  led  to 
the  kitchen  stairs,  and,  there  on  a  mat,  regarding 
me  with  intelligent  affection,  was  Maria ;  but  what 


254     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

— oh  what  was  the  white  thing  that  lay  between 
her  f orepaws  ? 

The  situation  was  too  serious  to  be  coped  with 
alone.  I  fled  noiselessly  back  to  the  drawing-room 
and  put  my  head  in  ;  Bernard's  eyes — blessed  be 
the  light  sleep  of  sailors ! — opened  again,  and 
there  was  that  in  mine  that  summoned  him  forth. 
(Blessed  also  be  the  light  step  of  sailors !) 

We  took  the  corpse  from  Maria,  withholding 
perforce  the  language  and  the  slaughtering  that 
our  hearts  ached  to  bestow.  For  a  minute  or  two 
our  eyes  communed. 

"I'll  get  the  kitchen  shovel,"  breathed  Bernard  ; 
"  you  open  the  hall  door !  " 

A  moment  later  we  passed  like  spirits  into  the 
open  air,  and  on  into  a  little  garden  at  the  end 
of  the  house.  Maria  followed  us,  licking  her  lips. 
There  were  beds  of  nasturtiums,  and  of  purple 
stocks,  and  of  marigolds.  We  chose  a  bed  of 
stocks,  a  plump  bed,  that  looked  like  easy  digging. 
The  windows  were  all  tightly  shut  and  shuttered, 
and  I  took  the  cockatoo  from  under  my  coat  and 
hid  it,  temporarily,  behind  a  box  border.  Bernard 
had  brought  a  shovel  and  a  coal  scoop.  We  dug 
like  badgers.  At  eighteen  inches  we  got  down  into 
shale,  and  stones,  and  the  coal  scoop  struck  work. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Bernard ;  "  we'll  plant  the 
stocks  on  top  of  him." 

It  was  a  lovely  morning,  with  a  new-born  blue 
sky  and  a  light  northerly  breeze.  As  we  returned 
to  the  house,  we  looked  across  the  wavelets  of  the 
little  cove  and  saw,  above  the  rocky  point  round 


The  House  of  Fahy  255 

which  we  had  groped  last  night,  a  triangular  white 
patch  moving  slowly  along. 

"  The  tide's  lifted  her  1 "  said  Bernard,  standing 
stock-still.  He  looked  at  Mrs.  Buck's  window  and 
at  me.  "  Yeates  ! "  he  whispered,  "  let's  quit ! " 

It  was  now  barely  six  o'clock,  and  not  a  soul 
was  stirring.  We  woke  the  ladies  and  convinced 
them  of  the  high  importance  of  catching  the  tide. 
Bernard  left  a  note  on  the  hall  table  for  Dr. 
Fahy,  a  beautiful  note  of  leave-taking  and  grati- 
tude, and  apology  for  the  broken  window  (for  which 
he  begged  to  enclose  half-a-crown).  No  allusion 
was  made  to  the  other  casualties.  As  we  neared 
the  strand  he  found  an  occasion  to  say  to  me  : 

"  I  put  in  a  postscript  that  I  thought  it  best 
to  mention  that  I  had  seen  the  cockatoo  in  the 
garden,  and  hoped  it  would  get  back  all  right. 
That's  quite  true,  you  know !  But  look  here, 
whatever  you  do,  you  must  keep  it  all  dark  from 
the  ladies " 

At  this  juncture  Maria  overtook  us  with  the 
cockatoo  in  her  mouth. 


XI 

OCCASIONAL  LICENSES 

IT'S  out  of  the  question,"  I  said,  looking  for- 
biddingly at  Mrs.  Moloney  through  the  spokes 
of  the  bicycle  that  I  was  pumping  up  outside  the 
grocer's  in  Skebawn. 

"  Well,  indeed,  Major  Yeates,"  said  Mrs.  Moloney, 
advancing  excitedly,  and  placing  on  the  nickel 
plating  a  hand  that  I  had  good  and  recent  cause 
to  know  was  warm,  "sure  I  know  well  that  if 
th'  angel  Gabriel  came  down  from  heaven  look- 
ing for  a  license  for  the  races,  your  honour 
wouldn't  give  it  to  him  without  a  charackther, 
but  as  for  Michael !  Sure,  the  world  k'nows  what 
Michael  is!" 

I  had  been  waiting  for  Philippa  for  already 
nearly  half-an-hour,  and  my  temper  was  not  at 
its  best. 

"Character  or  no  character,  Mrs.  Moloney," 
said  I  with  asperity,  "the  magistrates  have  settled 
to  give  no  occasional  licenses,  and  if  Michael  were 
as  sober  as " 

"  Is  it  sober  !  God  help  us !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
M6loney  with  an  upward  rolling  of  her  eye  to 
the  Recording  Angel ;  "  I'll  tell  your  honour  the 


Occasional  Licenses  257 

• 

truth.  I'm  his  wife,  now,  fifteen  years,  and  I 
never  seen  the  sign  of  dhrink  on  Michael  only 
once,  and  that  was  when  he  went  out  o'  good- 
nature helping  Timsy  Ryan  to  whitewash  his 
house,  and  Timsy  and  himself  had  a  couple  o' 
pots  o'  porther,  and  look,  he  was  as  little  used 
to  it  that  his  head  got  light,  and  he  walked  away 
out  to  dhrive  in  the  cows  and  it  no  more  than 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  day  1  And  the  cows,  the 
craytures,  as  much  surprised,  goin'  hither  and 
over  the  four  corners  of  the  road  from  him  ! 
Faith,  ye'd  have  to  laugh.  '  Michael/  says  I  to 
him,  '  ye're  dhrunk  ! '  'I  am,'  says  he,  and  the 
tears  rained  from  his  eyes.  I  turned  the  cows  from 
him.  *  Go  home,'  I  says,  '  and  lie  down  on  Willy 
Tom's  bed '  " 

At  this  affecting  point  my  wife  came  out  of 
the  grocer's  with  a  large  parcel  to  be  strapped 
to  my  handlebar,  and  the  history  of  Mr.  Moloney's 
solitary  lapse  from  sobriety  got  no  further  than 
Willy  Tom's  bed. 

"  You  see,"  I  said  to  Philippa,  as  we  bicycled 
quietly  home  through  the  hot  June  afternoon, 
"  we've  settled  we'll  give  no  licenses  for  the  sports. 
Why  even  young  Sheehy,  who  owns  three  pubs 
in  Skebawn,  came  to  me  and  said  he  hoped  the 
magistrates  would  be  firm  about  it,  as  these  one- 
day  licenses  were  quite  unnecessary,  and  only 
led  to  drunkenness  and  fighting,  and  every  man 
on  the  Bench  has  joined  in  promising  not  to 
grant  any." 

"  How  nice,  dear  !  "  said  Philippa  absently.    "  Do 

R 


258     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

you  know  Mrs.  McDonnell  can  only  let  me  have 
three  dozen  cups  and  saucers  ;  I  wonder  if  that 
will  be  enough  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  expect  three  dozen 
people  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Oh,  it's  always  well  to  be  prepared,"  replied 
my  wife  evasively. 

During  the  next  few  days  I  realised  the  true 
inwardness  of  what  it  was  to  be  prepared  for  an 
entertainment  of  this  kind.  Games  were  not  at 
a  high  level  in  my  district.  Football,  of  a  wild, 
guerilla  species,  was  waged  intermittently,  blended 
in  some  inextricable  way  with  Home  Rule  and 
a  brass  band,  and  on  Sundays  gatherings  of 
young  men  rolled  a  heavy  round  stone  along 
the  roads,  a  rudimentary  form  of  sport,  whose 
fascination  lay  primarily  in  the  fact  that  it  was 
illegal,  and,  in  lesser  degree,  in  betting  on  the 
length  of  each  roll.  I  had  had  a  period  of 
enthusiasm,  during  which  I  thought  I  was  go- 
ing to  be  the  apostle  of  cricket  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, but  my  mission  dwindled  to  single 
wicket  with  Peter  Cadogan,  who  was  indulgent 
but  bored,  and  I  swiped  the  ball  through  the 
dining-room  window,  and  some  one  took  one  of 
the  stumps  to  poke  the  laundry  fire.  Once  a 
year,  however,  on  that  festival  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  which  is  familiarly  known  as 
"  Pettier  and  Paul's  day,"  the  district  was  wont 
to  make  a  spasmodic  effort  at  athletic  sports, 
which  were  duly  patronised  by  the  gentry  and 
promoted  by  the  publicans,  and  this  year  the 


Occasional  Licenses  259 

honour  of  a  steward's  green  rosette  was  con- 
ferred upon  me.  Philippa's  genius  for  hospitality 
here  saw  its  chance,  and  broke  forth  into  un- 
bridled tea-party  in  connection  with  the  sports, 
even  involving  me  in  the  hire  of  a  tent,  the 
conveyance  of  chairs  and  tables,  and  other  large 
operations. 

It  chanced  that  Flurry  Knox  had  on  this  occa- 
sion lent  the  fields  for  the  sports,  with  the  proviso 
that  horse-races  and  a  tug-of-war  were  to  be  added 
to  the  usual  programme ;  Flurry's  participation 
in  events  of  this  kind  seldom  failed  to  be  of  an 
inflaming  character.  As  he  and  I  planted  larch 
spars  for  the  high  jump,  and  stuck  furze-bushes 
into  hurdles  (locally  known  as  (t  hurrls "),  and 
skirmished  hourly  with  people  who  wanted  to 
sell  drink  on  the  course,  I  thought  that  my  next 
summer  leave  would  singularly  coincide  with  the 
festival  consecrated  to  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul. 
We  made  a  grand  stand  of  quite  four  feet  high, 
out  of  old  fish-boxes,  which  smelt  worse  and  worse 
as  the  day  wore  on,  but  was,  none  the  less,  as 
sought  after  by  those  for  whom  it  was  not  in- 
tended, as  is  the  Royal  enclosure  at  Ascot ;  we 
broke  gaps  in  all  the  fences  to  allow  carriages  on 
to  the  ground,  we  armed  a  gang  of  the  worst 
blackguards  in  Skebawn  with  cart-whips,  to  keep 
the  course,  and  felt  that  organisation  could  go  no 
further. 

The  momentous  day  of  Pether  and  Paul  opened 
badly,  with  heavy  clouds  and  every  indication  of 
rain,  but  after  a  few  thunder  showers  things 


260     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

brightened,  and  it  seemed  within  the  bounds  of 
possibility  that  the  weather  might  hold  up.  When 
I  got  down  to  the  course  on  the  day  of  the  sports 
the  first  thing  I  saw  was  a  tent  of  that  peculiar 
filthy  grey  that  usually  enshrines  the  sale  of  porter, 
with  an  array  of  barrels  in  /a  crate  beside  it ;  I 
bore  down  upon  it  in  all  the  indignant  majesty 
of  the  law,  and  in  so  doing  came  upon  Flurry 
Knox,  who  was  engaged  in  flogging  boys  off  the 
Grand  Stand. 

"  Sheehy's  gone  one  better  than  you  ! "  he  said, 
without  taking  any 'trouble  to  conceal  the  fact 
that  he  was  amused. 

"  Sheehy  1 "  I  said  ;  "  why,  Sheehy  was  the  man 
who  went  to  every  magistrate  in  the  country  to 
ask  them  to  refuse  a  license  for  the  sports." 

"  Yes,  he  took  some  trouble  to  prevent  any  one 
else  having  a  look  in,"  replied  Flurry  ;  "  he  asked 
every  magistrate  but  one,  and  that  was  the  one 
that  gave  him  the  license." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  it  was  you  ? " 
I  demanded  in  high  wrath  and  suspicion,  -remem- 
bering that  Sheehy  bred  horses,  and  that  my  friend 
Mr.  Knox  was  a  person  of  infinite  resource  in  the 
matter  of  a  deal. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Flurry,  rearranging  a  dis- 
ordered fish-box,  "and  me  that's  a  churchwarden, 
.  and  sprained  my  ankle  a  month  ago  with  running 
downstairs  at  my  grandmother's  to  be  in  time  for 
prayers  !  Where's  the  use  of  a  good  character  in 
this  country  ?" 

"  Not  much  when  you  keep  it  eating  its  head 


Occasional  Licenses  261 

off  for  want  of  exercise,"   I   retorted  ;    "  but  if  it 
wasn't  you,  who  was  it?" 

"  Do  you  remember  old  Moriarty  out  at  Castle 
Ire  ?  " 

I  remembered  him  extremely  well  as  one  of 
those  representatives  of  the  people  with  whom 
a  paternal  Government  had  leavened  the  effete 
ranks  of  the  Irish  magistracy. 

"Well,"  resumed  Flurry,  "that  license  was  as 
good  as  a  five-pound  note  in  his  pocket." 

I  permitted  myself  a  comment  on  Mr.  Moriarty 
suitable  to  the  occasion. 

" Oh,  that's  nothing,"  said  Flurry  easily  ;   "he   . 
told  me  one  day  when  he  was  half  screwed  that 
his  Commission  of  the  Peace  was  \vorth  a  hundred 
and  fifty  a  year  to  him  in  turkeys  and  whisky,  and 
he  was  telling  the  truth  for  once." 

At  this  point  Flurry's  eye  wandered,  and  follow- 
ing its  direction  I  saw  Lady  Knox's  smart  'bus 
cleaving  its  way  through  the  throng  of  country 
people,  lurching  over  the  ups  and  downs  of  the 
field  like  a  ship  in  a  sea  I  was  too  blind  to  make 
out  the  component  parts  of  the  white  froth  that 
crowned  it  on  top,  and  seethed  forth  from  it  when 
it  had  taken  up  a  position  near  the  tent  in  which 
Philippa  was  even  now  propping  the  legs  of  the 
tea-table,  but  from  the  fact  that  Flurry  addressed 
himself  to  the  door,  I  argued  that  Miss  Sally  had 
gone  inside. 

Lady  Knox's  manner  had  something  more  than 
its  usual  bleakness.  She  had  brought,  as  she 
promised,  a  large  contingent,  but  from  the  way 


262     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

that  the  strangers  within  her  gates  melted  im- 
palpably  and  left  me  to  deal  with  her  single-handed, 
I  drew  the  further  deduction  that  all  was  not 
well. 

"  Did  you  ever  in  your  life  see  such  a  gang  of 
women  as  I  have  brought  with  me  ? "  she  began 
with  her  wonted  directness,  as  I  piloted  her  to 
the  Grand  Stand,  and  placed  her  on  the  stoutest 
looking  of  the  fish-boxes.  "I  have  no  patience 
with  men  who  yacht !  Bernard  Shute  has  gone  off 
to  the  Clyde,  and  I  had  counted  on  his  being  a  man 
at  my  dance  next  week.  I  suppose  you'll  tell  me 
you're  going  away  too." 

I  assured  Lady  Knox  that  I  would  be  a  man  to 
the  best  of  my  ability. 

"This  is  the  last  dance  I  shall  give,"  went  on  her 
ladyship,  unappeased ;  "  the  men  in  this  country 
consist  of  children  and  cads." 

I  admitted* that  we  were  but  a  poor  lot,  "but,"  I 
said,  "Miss  Sally  told  me " 

"  Sally's  a  fool ! "  said  Lady  Knox,  with  a  falcon 
eye  at  her  daughter,  who  happened  to  be  talking  to 
her  distant  kinsman,  Mr.  Flurry  of  that  ilk. 

The  races  had  by  this  time  begun  with  a 
competition  known  as  the  "  Hop,  Step,  and  Lep"; 
this,  judging  by  the  yells,  was  a  highly  interesting 
display,  but  as  it  was  conducted  between  two 
impervious  rows  of  onlookers,  the  aristocracy  on 
the  fish-boxes  saw  nothing ,  save  the  occasional 
purple  face  of  a  competitor,  starting  into  view 
above  the  wall  of  backs  like  a  jack-in-the-box. 
For  me,  however,  the  odorous  sanctuary  of  the 


Occasional  Licenses 


263 


fish-boxes  was  not  to  be.  I  left  it  guarded  by 
Slipper  with  a  cart-whip  of  flail-like  dimensions, 
as  disreputable  an  object  as  could  be  seen  out  of 
low  comedy,  with  some  one's  old  white  cords  on  his 
bandy  legs,  butcher-boots  three  sizes  too  big  for 
him,  and  a  black  eye.  The  small  boys  fled  before 
him  ;  in  the  glory  of  his 
office  he  would  have  flailed 
his  own  mother  off  the  fish- 
boxes  had  occasion  served. 
I  had  an  afternoon  of 
decidedly  mixed  enjoyment. 
My  stewardship  blossomed 
forth  like  Aaron's  rod,  and 
added  to  itself  the  duties  of 
starter,  handicapper,  general 
referee,  and  chucker  -  out, 
besides  which  I  from  time 
to  time  strove  with  emis- 
saries -who  came  from  Phil- 
ippa  with  messages  about 
water  and  kettles.  Flurry 
and  I  had  to  deal  single- 
handed  with  the  foot-races, 
(our  brothers  in  office  being 

otherwise  engaged  at  Mr.  Sheehy's),  a  task  of 
many  difficulties,  chiefest  being  that  the  spectators 
all  swept  forward  at  the  word  "Go!"  and  ran 
the  race  with  the  competitors,  yelling  curses, 
blessings,  and  advice  upon  them,  taking  short 
cuts  over  anything  and  everybody,  and  ming- 
ling inextricably  with  the  finish.  By  fervent  appli- 


KE  WOULD.  HAVE  FLAILED 
HIS  OWN  MOTHER  HAD 
OCCASION  SERVED 


264     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

cations  of  the  whips,  the  course  was  to  some 
extent  purged  for  the  quarter-mile,  and  it  would, 
I  believe,  have  been  a  triumph  of  handicapping 
had  not  an  unforeseen  disaster  overtaken  the 
favourite  —  old  Mrs.  Knox's  bath  -  chair  boy. 
Whether,  as  was  alleged,  his  braces  had  or  had 
not  been  tampered  with  by  a  rival  was  a  matter 
that  the  referee  had  subsequently  to  deal  with 
in  the  thick  of  a  free  fight";  but  the  painful  fact 
remained  that  in  the  course  of  the  first  lap 
what  were  described  as  "  his  galluses "  abruptly 
severed  their  connection  with  the  garments  for 
whose  safety  they  were  responsible,  and  the 
favourite  was  obliged  to  seek  seclusion  in  the 
crowd. 

The  tug-of-war  followed  close  on  this  contretemps, 
and  had  the  excellent  effect  of  drawing  away,  like 
a  blister,  the  inflammation  set  up  by  the  grievances 
of  the  bath-chair  boy.  I  cannot  at  this  moment 
remember  of  how  many  men  each  team  consisted  ; 
my  sole  aim  was  to  keep  the  numbers  even,  and 
to  baffle  the  volunteers  who,  in  an  ecstasy  of 
sympathy,  attached  themselves  to  the  tail  of  the 
rope  at  moments  when  their  champions  weakened. 
The  rival  forces  dug  their  heels  in  and  tugged, 
in  an  uproar  that  drew  forth  the  innermost  line 
of  customers  from  Mr.  Sheehy's  porter  tent,  and 
even  attracted  "the  quality"  from  the  haven  of 
the  fish-boxes,  Slipper,  in  the  capacity  of  Squire 
of  Dames,  pioneering  Lady  Knox  through  the 
crowd  with  the  cart-whip,  and  with  language 
whose  nature  was  providentially  veiled,  for  the 


Occasional  Licenses  16$ 

most  part,  by  the  din.  The  tug-of-war  continued 
unabated.  One  team  was  getting  the  worst  of 
it,  but  hung  doggedly  on,  sinking  lower  and  lower 
till  they  gradually  sat  down  ;  nothing  short  of 
the  trump  of  judgment  could  have  conveyed  to 
them  that  they  were  breaking  rules,  and  both  teams 
settled  down  by  slow  degrees  on  to  their  sides, 
with  the  rope  under  them,  and  their  heels  still 
planted  in  the  ground,  bringing  about  complete 
deadlock.  I  do  not  know  the  record  duration  for 
a  tug-of-war,  but  I  can  certify  that  the  Cullinagh 
and  Knockranny  teams  lay  on  the  ground  at  full 
tension  for  half-an-hour,  like  men  in  apoplectic 
fits,  each  man  with  his  respective  adherents  howl- 
ing over  him,  blessing  him,  and  adjuring  him  to 
continue. 

With  my  own  nauseated-  eyes  I  saw  a  bearded 
countryman,  obviously  one  of  Mr.  Sheehy's  best 
customers,  fling  himself  on  his  knees  beside  one  of 
the  combatants,  and  kiss  his  crimson  and  stream- 
ing face  in  a  rapture  of  encouragement.  As  he 
shoved  unsteadily  past  me  on  his  return  journey 
to  Mr.  Sheehy's,  I  heard  him  informing  a  friend 
that  "  he  cried  a  handful  over  Danny  Mulloy, 
when  he  seen  the  poor"  brave  boy  so  shtubborn, 
and,  indeed,  he  couldn't  say  why  he  cried." 

"  For  good  -  nature  ye'd  cry,"  suggested  the 
friend. 

"Well,  just  that,  I  suppose,"  returned  Danny 
Mulloy' s  admirer  resignedly  ;  "  indeed,  if  it  was 
only  two  cocks  ye  seen  fightin'  on  the  road,  yer 
heart'd  take  part  with  one  o'  them  ! " 


266     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

I  had  begun  to  realise  that  I  might  as  well 
abandon  the  tug-of-war  and  occupy  myself  else- 
where, when  my  wife's  much  harassed  messenger 
brought  me  the  portentous  tidings  that  Mrs.  Yeates 
wanted  me  at  the  tent  at  once.  When  I  arrived 
I  found  the  tent  literally  bulging  with  Philippa's 
guests  ;  Lady  Knox,  seated  on  a  hamper,  was 
taking  off  her  gloves,  and  loudly  announcing  her 
desire  for  tea,  and  Philippa,  with  a  flushed  face 
and  a  crooked  hat,  breathed  into  my  ear  the 
awful  news  that  both  the  cream  and  the  milk 
had  been  forgotten. 

V  But  Flurry  Knox  says  he  can  get  me  some," 
she  went  on  ;  "  he's  gone  to  send  people  to  milk 
a  cow  that  lives  near  here.  Go  out  and  see  if 
he's  coming." 

I  went  out  and  found,  in  the  first  instance,  Mrs. 
Cadogan,  who  greeted  me  with  the  prayer  that 
the  divil  might  roast  Julia  McCarthy,  that  legged 
it  away  to  the  races  like  a  wild  goose,  and  left 
the  cream  afther  her  on  the  servants'  hall  table. 
"  Sure,  Misther  "Flurry's  gone  looking  for  a  cow, 
and  what  cow  would  there  be  in  a  backwards  place 
like  this  ?  And  look  at  me  shtriving  to  keep  the 
kettle  simpering  on  the  fire,  and  not  as  much  coals 
undher  it  as'd  redden  a  pipe  !  " 

"Where's  Mr.  Knox?"  Tasked. 

"  Himself  and  Slipper's  galloping  the  counthry 
like  the  deer.  I  believe  it's  to  the  house  above 
they  went,  sir." 

I  followed  up  a  rocky  hill  to  the  house  above, 
and  there  found  Flurry  and  Slipper  engaged  in 


Occasional  Licenses  267 

the  patriarchal  task  of  driving  two  brace  of  coupled 
and  spancelled  goats  into  a  shed. 

"  It's  the  best  we  can  do,"  said  Flurry  briefly ; 
"there  isn't  a  cow  to  be  found,  and  the  people 

are  all  down  at  the  sports.  Be  d d  to  you, 

Slipper,  don't  let  them  go  from  you  I "  as  the 
goats  charged  and  doubled  like  football  players. 

"  But  goats'  milk  1 "  I  said,  paralysed  by  hor- 
rible memories  of  what  tea  used  to  taste  like 
at  Gib. 

"  They'll  never  know  it  ! "  said  Flurry,  corner- 
ing a  venerable  nanny ;  "  here,  hold  this  divil, 
and  hold  her  tight !  " 

I  have  no  time  to  dwell  upon  the  pastoral 
scene  that  followed.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  at 
the  end  of  ten  minutes  of  scorching  profanity 
from  Slipper,  and  incessant  warfare  with  the 
goats,  the  latter  had  reluctantly  yielded  two 
small  jugfuls,  and  the  dairymaids  had  exhibited 
a  nerve  and  skill  in  their  trade  that  won  my 
lasting  respect. 

"  I  knew  I  could,  trust  you,  Mr.  Knox !  "  said 
Philippa,.  with  shining  eyes,  as  we  presented  her 
with  the  two  foaming  beakers.  I  suppose  a 
man  is  never  a  hero  to  his  wife,  but  if  she 
could  have  realised  the  bruises  on  my  legs,  I 
think  she  would  have  reserved  a  blessing  for  me 
also. 

What  was  thought  of  the  goats'  milk  I  gathered 
symptomatically  from  a  certain  fixity  of  expres- 
sion that  accompanied  the  first  sip  of  the  tea,  and 
from  observing  that  comparatively  few  ventured 


268     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

on  second  cups.  I  also  noted  that  after  a  brief 
conversation  with  Flurry,  Miss  Sally  poured  hers 
secretly  on  to  the  grass.  Lady  Knox  had  through- 
out the  day  preserved  an  aspect  so  threatening 
that  no  change  was  perceptible  in  her  demeanour. 
In  the  throng  of  hungry  guests  I  did  not  for 
some  time  notice  that  Mr.  Knox  had  withdrawn 
until  something  in  Miss  Sally's  eye  summoned  me 
to  her,  and, she  told  me  she  had  a  message  from 
him  for  me. 

"Couldn't  we  come  outside  ?"  she  said. 

Outside  the  tent,  within  less  than  six  yards  of 
her/nother,  Miss  Sally  confided  to  me  a  scheme 
that  made  my  hair  stand  on  end.  Summarised,  it 
amounted  to  this :  That,  first,  she  was  in  the 
primary  stage  of  a  deal  with  Sheehy  for  a  four- 
year-old  chestnut  colt,  for  which  Sheehy  was 
asking  double  its  value  on  the  assumption  that 
it  had  no  rival  in  -the  country,;  that,  secondly, 
they  had  just  heard  it  was  going  to  run  in  the 
first  race  ;  and,  thirdly  and  lastly,  that  as  there 
was  no  other  horse  available,  Flurry  was  going 
to  take  old  Sultan  out  of  the  'bus  and  ride  him 
in  the  race  ;  and  that  Mrs.  Yeates  had  promised 
to  keep  mamma  safe  in  the  tent,  while  the  race 
was  going  on,  and  "you  know,  Major  Yeates,  it 
would  be  delightful  to  beat  Sheehy  after  his  get- 
ting the  better  of  you  all  about  the  license  ! " 

With  this  base  appeal  to  my  professional  feelings, 
Miss  Knox  paused,  and  looked  at  me  insinuat- 
ingly. Her  eyes  were  greeny-grey,  and  very 
beguiling. 


Occasional  Licenses  269 

"  Come  on,"  she  said ;  "  they  want  you  to  start 
them ! " 

Pursued  by  visions  of  the  just  wrath  of  Lady 
Knox,  I  weakly  followed  Miss  -Sally  to  the  farther 
end  of  the  second  field,  from  which  point  the 
race  was  to  start.  The  course  was  not  a  serious 
one :  two  or  three  natural  banks,  a  stone  wall, 
and  a  couple  of  "  hurrls."  There  were  but  four 
riders,  including  Flurry,  who  was  .seated  com- 
posedly on  Sultan,  smoking  a  cigarette  and  talking 
confidentially  to  Slipper.  Sultan,  although  some- 
thing stricken  in  years  and  touched  in  the  wind, 
was  a  brown  horse  who  in  his  day  had  been  a 
hunter  of  no  mean  repute ;  even  now  he  occa- 
sionally carried  Lady  Knox  in  a  sedate  an'd  gentle- 
manly manner,  but  it  struck  me  that  it  was  trying 
him  rather  high  to  take  him  from  the  pole  of 
the  'bus  after  twelve  miles  on  a  hilly  road,  and 
hustle  him  over  a  country  against  a  four-year- 
old.  My  acutest  anxiety,  however,  was  to  start 
the  race  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  to  get  back 
to  the  tent  in  time  to  establish  an  alibi;  there- 
fore I  repressed  my  private  sentiments,  and,  tying 
my  handkerchief  to  a  stick,  determined  that  no 
time  should  be  fashionably  frittered  away  in  false 
starts. 

They  got  away  somehow ;  I  believe  Sheehy's 
colt  was  facing  the  wrong  way  at  the  moment 
when  I  dropped  the  flag,  but  a  friend  turned 
him  with  a  stick,  and,  with  a  cordial  and  timely 
whack,,  speeded  him  on  his  way  on  sufficiently 
level  terms,  and  then  somehow,  instead  of  return- 


270     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

ing  to  the  tent,  I  found  myself  with  Miss  Sally  on 
the  top  of  a  tall  narrow  bank,  in  a  precarious 
line  of  other  spectators,  with  whom  we  toppled 
and  swayed,  and,  in  moments  of  acuter  emotion, 
held  on  to  each  other  in  unaffected  comradeship. 

Flurry  started  well,  and  from  bur  commanding 
position  we  could  see  him  methodically  riding  at 
the  first  fence  at  a  smart  hunting,  canter,  closely 
attended  by  James  Canty's  brother  on  a  young 
black  mare,  and  by  an  unknown  youth  on  a  big 
white  horse.  The  hope  of  Sheehy's  stable,  a  leggy 
chestnut,  ridden  by  a  cadet  of  the  house  of  Sheehy, 
went  away  from  the  friend's  stick  like  a  rocket, 
and  had  already  refused  the  first  bank  twice  before 
old  Sultan  decorously  changed  feet  on  it  and 
dropped  down  into  the  next  field  with  tranquil 
precision.  The  white  horse  scrambled  over  it  on 
his  stomach,  but  landed  safely,  despite  the  fact 
that  his  rider  clasped  iiim  round  the  neck  during 
the  process ;  the  black  mare  and  the  chestnut 
shouldered  one  another  over  at  the  hole  the  white 
horse  had  left,  and  the  whole  party  went  away 
in  a  bunch  and  jumped  the  ensuing  hurdle  with- 
out disaster.  Flurry  continued  to  ride  at  the  same 
steady  hunting  pace,  accompanied  respectfully  by 
the  white  horse  and  by  Jerry  Canty  on  the  black 
mare.  Sheehy's  coit  had  clearly  the  legs  of  the 
party,  and  did  some  showy  galloping  between  the 
jumps,  but  as  he  refused  to  face  the  banks  with- 
out a  lead,  the  end  of  the  first  round  found  the 
field  still  a  sociable  party  personally  conducted 
by  Mr.  Knox. 


Occasional  Licenses  271 

"That's  a  dam  nice  horse/'  said  one  of  my 
hangers-on,  looking  approvingly  at  Sultan  as  he 
passed  us  at  the  beginning  of  the  second  round, 
making  a  good  deal  of  noise  but  apparently  going 
at  his  ease  \  "  you  might  depind  your  life  on 
him,  and  he  have  the  crabbedest  jock  in  the  globe 
of  Ireland  on  him  this  minute." 

"  Canty's  mare's  very  sour,"  said  another  ;  "  look 
at  her  now,  baulking  the  bank  !  she's  as  cross  as  a 
bag  of  weasels." 

"  Begob,  I  wouldn't  say  but  she's  a  little  sign 
lame,"  resumed  the  first ;  "  she  was  going  light  on 
one  leg  on  the  road  a  while  ago." 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Miss  Salty,  very 
seriously,  in  my  ear,  "  that  chestnut  of  Sheehy's 
is  settling  down.  I'm  afraid  he'll  gallop  away  from 
Sultan  at  the  finish,  and  the  wall  won't  stop  him. 
Flurry  can't  get  another  inch  out  of  Sultan.  He's 
riding  him  well,"  she  ended  in  a  critical  voice, 
which  yet  was  not  quite  like  her  own.  Perhaps 
I  should  not  have  noticed  it  but  for  the  fact  that 
the  hand  that  held  my  arm  was  trembling.  As 
for  me,  I  thought  of.  Lady  Knox,  and  trembled 
too. 

There  now  remained  but  one  bank,  the  trampled 
remnant  of  the  furze  hurdle,  and  the  stone  wall. 
The  pace  was  beginning  to  improve,  and  the  other 
horses  drew  away  from  Sultan  ;  they  charged  the 
bank  at  full  gallop,  the  black  mare  and  the  chest- 
nut flying  it  perilously,  with  a  windmill  flourish  of 
legs  and  arms  from  their  riders,  the  white  horse 
racing  up  to  it  with  a  gallantry  that  deserted  him  at 


272     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  9^. AT. 

the  critical  moment,  with  the  result  that  his  rider 
turned  a  somersault  over  his  head  and  landed, 
amidst  the  roars  of  the  onlookers,  sitting  on  the 
fence  facing  his  horse's  hose.  With  creditable 
presence  of  mind  he  remained  on  the  bank,  towed 
the  horse  over,  scrambled  on  to  his  back  again  and 
started  afresh.  Sultan,  thirty  yards  to  the  bad, 
pounded  doggedly  on,  and  Flurry's  cane  and  heels 
remained  idle ;  the  old  horse,  obviously  blown, 
slowed  cautiously  coming  in  at  the  jump.  Sally's 
grip  tightened  on  my  arm,  and  the  crowed  yelled  as 
Sultan,  answering  to  a  hint  from  the  spurs  and  a 
touch  at  his  mouth,  heaved  himself  on  to  the  bank. 
Nothing  but  sheer  riding  on  Flurry's  part  got  him 
safe  off  it,  and  saved  him  from  the  consequences  of 
a  bad  peck  on  landing ;  none  the  less,  he  pulled 
himself  together  and  went  away  down  the  hill  for 
the  stone  wall  as  stoutly  as  ever.  The  high-road 
skirted  the  last  two  fields,  and  there  was  a  gate 
in  the  roadside  fence  beside  the  place  where  the 
stone  wall  met  it  at  right  angles.  I  had  noticed 
this  gate,  because  during  the  first  round  Slipper 
had  been  sitting  on  it,  demonstrating  with  his 
usual  fervour.  Sheehy's.  colt  was  leading,  with 
his  nose  in  the  air,  his  rider's  hands  going  like  a 
circular  saw,  and  his  temper,  as  a  bystander  re- 
marked, "  up  on  end  "  ;  the  black  mare,  half  mad 
from  spurring,  was  going  hard  at  his  heels,  com- 
pletely out  of  hand ;  the  white  horse  was  steering 
steadily  for  the  wrong  side  of  the  flag,  and 
Flurry,  by  dint  of  cutting  corners  and  of  saving 
every  yard  of  ground,  .was  close  enough  to  keep 


Occasional  Licenses  273 

his  antagonists'  heads  over  their  shoulders,  while 
their  right  arms  rose  and  fell  in  unceasing  flagel- 
lation. 

"There'll  be  a  smash  when  they  come  to  the 
wall  1  If  one  falls  they'll  all  go  ! "  panted  Sally. 
«Oh! Now!  Flurry!  Flurry! " 

What  had  happened  was  that  the  chestnut  colt 
had  suddenly  perceived  that  the  gate  at  right 
angles  to  the  wall  was  standing  wide  open,  and, 
swinging  away  from  the  jump,  he  had  bolted 
headlong  out  on  to  the  road,  and  along  it  at  top 
speed  for  his  home.  After  him  fled  Canty's  black 
mare,  and  with  her,  carried  away  by  the  spirit  of 
stampede,  went  the  white  horse. 

Flurry  stood  up  in  his  stirrups  and  gave  a 
view-halloa  as  he  cantered  down  to  the  wall. 
Sultan  came  at  it  with  the  send  of  the  hill  behind 
him,  and  jumped  it  with  a  skill  that  intensified, 
if  that  were  possible,  the  volume  of  laughter 
and  yells  around  us.  By  the  time  the  black 
mare  and  the  white  horse  had  returned  and 
ignominiously  bundled  over  the  wall  to  finish 
as  best  they  might,  Flurry  was  leading  Sultan 
towards  us. 

"That  blackguard,  Slipper!"  he  said,  grinning ; 
"  every  one'll  say  I  told  him  to  open  the  gate  ! 
But  look  here,  I'm  afraid  we're  in  for  trouble. 
Sultan's  given  himself  a  bad  over -reach  ;  you 
could  never  drive  him  home  to  -  night.  And 
I've  just  seen  Norris  lying  blind  drunk  under  a 
wall  ! " 

Now  Norris  was  Lady  Knox's  coachman.    We 

s 


274     S°me  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

stood  aghast  at  this  "  horror  on  horror's  head," 
the  blood  trickled  down  Sultan's  heel,  and  the 
lather  lay  in  flecks  on  his  dripping,  heaving  sides, 
in  irrefutable  witness  to  the  iniquity  of  Lady  Knox's 
only  daughter.  Then  Flurry  said  : 

"Thank  the  Lord,  here's  the  rainj" 

At  the  moment  I  admit  that  I  failed  to  see 
any  cause  for  gratitude  in  this  occurrence,  but 
later  on  I  appreciated  Flurry's  grasp  of  circum- 
stances. 

That  appreciation  was,  I  think,  at  its  highest 
development  about  half-an-hour  afterwards,  when 
I,  an  unwilling  conspirator  (a  part  with  which 
my  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Knox  had  rendered 
me  but  too  familiar)  unfurled  Mrs.  Cadogan's 
umbrella  over  Lady  Knox's  head,  and  hurried 
her  through  the  rain  from  the  tent  to  the  'bus, 
keeping  it  and  my  own  person  well  between  her 
and  the  horses.  I  got  her  in,  with  the  rest  of 
her  bedraggled  and  exhausted  party,  and  slammed 
the  door. 

"  Remember,  Major  Yeates,"  she  said  through 
the  window,  "you  are  the  only  person  here  in 
whom  I  have  any  confidence.  I  don't  wish 
any  one  else  to  touch  the  reins ! "  this  with 
a  glance  towards  Flurry,  who  was  standing 
near. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  only  a  moderate  whip,"  I 
said. 

"My  dear  man,"  replied  Lady  Knox  testily, 
"  those  horses  could  drive  themselves  1 " 

I  slunk  round  to.  the  front  of  the  'bus.     Two 


Occasional  Licenses  275 

horses,  carefully  rugged,  were  in  it,  with  the  in- 
evitable Slipper  at  their  heads. 

"Slipper's  going  with  you,"  whispered  Flurry, 
stepping  up  to  me ;  "  she  won't  have  me  at  any 
price.  He'll  throw  the  rugs  over  them  when 
you  get  to  the  house,  and  if  you  hold  the  umbrella 
well  over  her  she'll  never  see.  I'll  manage  to  get 
Sultan  over  somehow,  when  N  orris  is  sober.  That 
will  be  all  right." 

I  climbed  to  the  box  without  answering,  my  soul 
being  bitter  within  me,  as  is  the  soul  of  a  man 
who  has  been  persuaded  by  womankind  against  his 
judgment. 

"Never  again!"  I  said  to  myself,  picking  up 
the  reins;  'Met  her  marry  him  or  Bernard  Shute, 
or  both  of  them  if  she  likes,  but  I  won't  be  roped 
into  this  kind  of  business  again  ! " 

Slipper  drew  the  rugs  from  the  horses,  revealing 
on  the  near  side  Lady  Knox's  majestic  carriage 
horse,  and  on  the  off,  a  thick-set  brown  mare  of 
about  fifteen  hands. 

"What  brute  is  this?"  said  I  to  Slipper,  as  he 
swarmed  up  beside  me. 

"  I  don't  rightly  know  where  Misther  Flurry 
got  her,"  said  Slipper,  with  one  of  his  hiccoughing 
crows  of  laughter;  "give  her  the  whip,  Major, 
and  " — here  he  broke  into  song  : 

"  Howld  to  the  shteel, 
Honamaundhiaoul ;  she'll  run  off  like  an  eel !  " 

"  If  you  don't,  shut  your  mouth,"  said  I,  with 
pent-up  ferocity,  "  I'll  chuck  you  off  the  'bus," 


276     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Slipper  was  but  slightly  drunk,  and,  taking  this 
delicate  rebuke  in  good  part,  he  relapsed  into 
silence. 

Wherever  the  brown  mare  came  from,  I  can 
certify  that  it  was  not  out  of  double  harness. 
Though  humble  and  anxious  to  oblige,  she  pulled 
away  from  the  pole  as  if  it  were  red  hot,  and  at 
critical  moments  had  a  tendency  to  sit  down.  How- 
ever, we  squeezed  without  misadventure  among  the 
donkey  carts  and  between  the  groups  of  people,  and 
bumped  at  length  in  safety  out  on  to  the  high-road. 

Here  I  thought  it  no ,  harm  to  take  Slipper's 
advice,  and  I  applied  the  whip  to  the  brown  mare, 
who  seemed  inclined  to  turn  round.  She  imme- 
diately fell  into  an  uncertain  canter  that  no  effort 
of  mine  could  frustrate  ;  I  could  only  hope  that 
Miss  Sally  would  foster  conversation  inside  the 
'bus  and  create  a  distraction  ;  but  judging  from 
my  last  view  of  the  party,  and  of  Lady  Knox  in 
particular,  I  thought  she  was  not  likely  to  be 
successful.  Fortunately  the  rain  was  heavy  and 
thick,  and  a  rising  west  wind  gave  every  promise 
of  its  continuance.  I  had  little  doubt  but  that  I 
should  catch  cold,  but  I  took  it  to  my  bosom 
with  gratitude  as  I  reflected  how  it  was  drum- 
ming on  the  roof  of  the  'bus  and  blurring  the 
windows. 

We  had  reached  the  foot  of  a  hill,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  racecourse  ;  the  Castle 
Knox  horse  addressed  himself  to  it  with  dignified 
determination,  but  the  mare  showed  a  sudden  and 
alarming  tendency  to  jib. 


Occasional  Licenses  277 

"  Belt  her,  Major  ! "  vociferated  Slipper,  as  she 
hung  back  from  the  pole  chain,  with  the  collar 
half-way  up  her  ewe  neck,  "and  give  it  to  the 
horse,  too  !  He'll  dhrag  her  ! " 

I  was  in  the  act  of  "belting,"  when  a  squealing 
whinny  struck  upon  my  ear,  accompanied  by  a 
light  pattering  gallop  on  the  road  behind  us  ;  there 
was  an  answering  roar  from  the  brcwn  mare,  a 
roar,  as  I  realised  with  a  sudden  drop  of  the 
heart,  of  outraged  maternal  feeling,  and  in  another 
instant  a  pale,  yellow  foal  sprinted  up  beside  us, 
with  shrill,  whickerings  of  joy.  Had  there  at  this 
moment  been  a  boghole  handy,  I  should  have 
turned  the  'bus  into  it  without  hesitation  ;  as  there 
was  no  accommodation  of  the  kind,  I  laid  the 
whip  severely  into  everything  I  could  reach,  in- 
cluding the  foal.  The  result  was  that  we  topped 
the  hill  at  a  gallop,  three  abreast,  like  a  Russian 
troitska  ;  it  was  like  my  usual  luck  that  at  this 
identical  moment  we  should  meet  the  police  patrol, 
who  saluted  respectfully. 

"  That  the  divil  may  blisther  Michael  Moloney  1 " 
ejaculated  Slipper,  holding  on  to  the  rail;  "didn't 
I  give  him  the  foaleen  and  a  halther  on  him  to 
keep  him!  'I'll  howld  you  a  pint  'twas  the  wife 
let  him  go,  for  she  being  vexed  about  the  license  ! 
Sure  that  one's  a  March  foal,  an'  he'd  run  from 
here  to  Cork  ! " 

There  was  no  sign  from  my  inside  passengers, 
and  I  held  on  at  a  rojund  pace,  the  mother  and 
child  galloping  absurdly,  the  carriage  horse  pulling 
hard,  but  behaving  like  a  gentleman.  I  wildly 


278     Sonie  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

revolved  plans  of  how  I  would  make  Slipper  turn 
the  foal  in  at  the  first  gate  -we  came  to,  of  what 
I  should  say  to  Lady  Knox  supposing  the  worst 
happened  and  the  foal  accompanied  us  to  her 
hall  door,  and  of  how  I  would  have  Flurry's  blood 
at  the  earliest  possible  opportunity,  and  here  the 
fateful  sound  of  galloping  behind  us  was  again 
heard. 

"  It's  impossible  !  "  I  said  to  myself ;  "she  can't 
have  twins  ! " 

The  galloping  came  nearer,  and  Slipper  looked 
back. 

"Murdher  alive!"  he  said  in  a  stage  whisper; 
"Tom  Sheehy's  afther  us  on  the  butcher's 
pony  ! " 

"  What's  that  to  me  ?  "  I  said,  dragging  my  team 
aside  to  let  him  pass  ;  "  I  suppose  he's  drunk,  like 
every  one  else  ! " 

Then  the  voice  of  Tom  Sheehy  made  itself 
heard. 

" Shtop  !  Shtop  thief !  "  he  was  bawling  ;  "give 
up  my  mare !  How  will  I  get  me  porther 
home  ! " 

That  was  the  closest  shave  I  have  ever  had,  and 
nothing  could  have  saved  the  position  but  the 
torrential  nature  of  the  rain  and  the  fact  that 
Lady  Knox  had  on  a  new  bonnet.  I  explained 'to 
her  at  the  door  of  the  'bus  that  Sheehy  was  drunk 
(which  was  the  one  unassailable  feature  of  the 
case),  and  had  come  after  his  foal,  which,  with  the 
fatuity  of  its  kind,  had  escaped  from  a  field  and 


Occasional  Licenses 


279 


followed  us,  I  did  not  mention  to  Lady  Knox 
that  when  Mr.  Sheehy  retreated,  apologetically, 
dragging  the  foal  after  him  in  a  halter  belonging 
to  one  of  her  own  carriage  horses,  he  had  a  sove- 
reign of  mine  in  his  pocket,  and  during  the 


SHTOP  !     SHl'OP   THIEF  !  " 


narration  I  avoided  Miss  Sally's  eye  as  carefully  as 
she  avoided  mine. 

The  only  comments  on  the  day's  events  that  are 
worthy  of  record  were  that  Philippa  said  to  me 
that  she  had  not  been  able  to  understand  what 
the  curious  taste  in  the  tea  had  been  till  Sally 
told  her  it  was  turf-smoke,  and  that  Mrs.  Cadogan 


280     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

said  to  Philippa  that  night  that  "the  Major  was 
that  dhrinched  that  if  he  had  a  shirt  between  his 
skin  and  himself  he  could  have  wrung  it,"  and  that 
Lady  Knox  said  to  a  mutual  friend  that  though 
Major  Yeales  had  been  extremely  kind  and  obliging, 
he  was  an  uncommonly  **?£  whip. 


XII 

"OH  LOVE!    OH  FIRE!" 

IT  was  on  one  of  the  hottest  days  of  a  hot  August 
that  I  walked  over  to  Tory  Lodge  to  inform 
Mr.  Flurry  Knox,  M.F.H.,  that  the  limits  of  human 
endurance  had  been  reached,  and  that  either 
Venus  and  her  family,  or  I  and  mine,  must  quit 
Shreelane.  In  a  moment  of  impulse  I  had  ac- 
cepted her  and  her  numerous  progeny  as  guests 
in  my  stable-yard,  since  when  Mrs.  Cadogan 
had  given  warning  once  or  twice  a  week,  and 
Maria,  lawful  autocrat  of  the  ashpit,  had  had — I 
quote  the  kitchenmaid — "  tin  battles  for  every  male 
she'd  ate." 

The  walk  over  the  hills  was  not  of  a  nature  to 
lower  the  temperature,  moral  or  otherwise.  The 
grassy  path  was  as  slippery  as  glass,  the  rocks 
radiated  heat,  the  bracken  radiated  horseflies. 
There  was  no  need  to  nurse  my  wrath  to  keep  it 
warm. 

I  found  Flurry  seated  in  the  kennel-yard  in  a 
long  and  unclean  white  linen  coat,  engaged  in 
clipping  hieroglyphics  on  the  ears  of  a  young 
outgoing  draft,  an  occupation  in  itself  unfavourable 
to  argument.  The  young  draft  had  already  mono- 


282     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

polised  all  possible  forms  of  remonstrance,  from 
snarling  in  the  obscurity  behind  the  meal  sack 
in  the  boiler-house,  to  hysterical  yelling  as  they 
were  dragged  forth  by  the  tail ;  but  through  these 
alarms  and  excursions  I  denounced  Venus  and 
all  her  works,  from  slaughtered  Wyandottes  to 
broken  dishes.  Even  as  I  did  so  I  was  conscious 
of  something  chastened  in  Mr.  Knox's  demeanour, 
some  touch  of  remoteness  and  melancholy  with 
which  I  was  quite  unfamiliar ;  my  indictment 
weakened  and  my  grievances  became  trivial  when 
laid  before  this  grave  and  almost  religiously  gentle 
young  man. 

"  I'm  sojry  you  and  Mrs.  Yeates  should  be 
vexed  by  her.  Send  her  "back  when  you  like. 
I'll  keep  her.  Maybe  it'll  not  be  for  so  long 
after  all." 

When  pressed  to  expound  this  dark  saying,  Flurry 
smiled  wanly  and  snipped  a  second  line  in  the 
hair  of  the  puppy  that  was  pinned  between  his 
legs.  I  was  almost  relieved  when  a  hard  try  to 
bite  on  the  part  of  the  puppy  imparted  to  Flurry's 
language  a  transient  warmth  ;  but  the  reaction  was 
only  temporary. 

"  It'd  be  as  good  for  me  to  make  a  present  of 
this  lot  to  old  Welby  as  to  take  the  price  he's 
offering  me,"  he  went  on,  as  he  got  up  and  took 
off  his  highly-scented  kennel-coat ;  "  but  I  couldn't 
be  bothered  fighting  him.  Come  on  in  and  have 
something.  I  drink  tea  myself  at  this  hour." 

If  he  had  said  toast  and  water  it  would  have 
seemed  no  more  than  was  suitable  to  such  a  frame 


Ok  Love  !  Oh  Fire!  283 

of  mind.  As  I  followed  him  to  the  house  I  thought 
that  when  the  day  came  that  Flurry  Knox  could 
not  be  bothered  with  fighting  old  Welby  things 
were  becoming  serious,  but  I  kept  this  opinion  to 
myself  and  merely  offered  an  admiring  comment 
on  the  roses  that  were  blooming  on  the  front  of 
the  house. 

"  I  put  up  every  stick  of  that  trellis  myself  with 
my  own  hands,"  said  Flurry,  still  gloomily  ;  "  the 
roses  were  trailing  all  over  the  place  for  the  want 
of  it.  Would  you  like  to  have  a  look  at  the  garden 
while  they're  getting  tea  ?  I  settled  it  up  a  bit 
since  you  saw  it  last." 

I  acceded  to  this  almost  alarmingly  ladylike  sug- 
gestion, marvelling  greatly. 

Flurry  certainly  was  a  changed  man,  and  his 
garden  was  a  changed  garden.  It  was  a  very  old 
garden,  with  unexpected  arbours  madly  overgrown 
with  flowering  climbers,  and  a  flight  of  grey  steps 
leading  to  a  terrace,  where  a  moss-grown  sundial 
and  ancient  herbaceous  plants  strove  with  nettles 
and  briars  ;  but  I  chiefly  remembered  it  as  a  place 
where  washing  was  wont  to  hang  on  black-currant 
bushes,  and  the  kennel  terrier  matured  his  bones 
and  hunted  chickens.  There  was  now  rabbit  wire 
on  the  gate,  the  walks  were  cleaned,  the  beds 
weeded.  There  was  even  a  bed  of  mignonette,  a 
row  of  sweet  pea,  and  a  blazing  party  of  sun- 
flowers, and  Michael,  once  second  in  command 
in  many  a  filibustering  expedition,  was  now  on 
his  knees,  ingloriously  tying  carnations  to  little 
pieces  of  cane. 


284     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

We  walked  up  the  steps  to  the  terrace.  Down 
below  us  the  rich  and  southern  blue  of  the  sea 
filled  the  gaps  between  scattered  fir-trees ;  the  hill- 
side above  was  purple  with  heather ;  a  bay  mare 
and  her  foal  were  moving  lazily  through  the 
bracken,  with  the  sun  glistening  on  it  and  them. 
I  looked  back  at  the  house,  nestling  in  the  hollow 
of  the  hill,  I  smelled  the  smell  of  the  mignonette 
in  the  air,  I  regarded  Michael's  labouring  back 
among  the  carnations,  and  without  any  connec- 
tion of  ideas  I  seemed  to  see  Miss  Sally  Knox, 
with  her  golden-red  hair  and  slight  figure,  standing 
on  the  terrace  beside  her  kinsman. 

"Michael !  Do  ye  know  where's  Misther  Flurry  ?" 
squalled  a  voice  from  the  garden  gate,  the  untram- 
melled voice  of  the  female  domestic  at  large  among 
her  fellows.  "  The  tay's,  wet,  and  there's  a  man 
over  with  a  message  from  Aussolas.  He  was  tellin' 
me  the  owld  hairo  beyant  is  givin'  out  invita- 
tions  "  ) 

A"  stricken  silence  fell,  induced,  no  doubt,  by 
hasty  danger  signals  from  Michael. 

"Who's  'the  old  hero  beyant'?"  I  asked,  as 
we  turned  toward  the  house. 

"  My  grandmother,"  said  Flurry,  permitting  him- 
self a  smile  that  had  about  as  much  sociability  in 
it  as  skim  milk  ;  "  she's  giving  a  tenants'  dance  at 
Aussolas.  She  gave  one  about  five  years  ago,  and 
I  declare  you  might  as  well  get  the  influenza  into 
the  country,  or  a  mission  at  the  chapel.  There 
won't  be  a  servant  in  the  place  will  be  able  to 
answer  their  name  for  a  week  after  it,  what  with 


Oh  Love/  Oh  Fire/  285 

toothache  and  headache,  and  blathering  in  the 
kitchen  1  " 

We  had  tea  in  the  drawing-room,  a  solemnity 
which  I  could  not  but  be  aware  was  due  to  the 
presence  of  a  new  carpet,  a  new  wall-paper,  and 
a  new  piano.  Flurry  made  no  comment  on  these 
things,  but  something  told  me  that  I  was  expected 
to  do  so,  and  I  did. 

"I'd  sell  you  the  Jot  to-morrow  for  half  what 
I  gave  for  them,"  said  my  host,  eyeing  them  with 
morose  respect  as  he  poured  out  his  third  cup 
of  tea. 

I  have  all  my  life  been  handicapped  by  not 
having  the  courage  of  my  curiosity.  Those  who 
have  the  nerve  to  ask  direct  questions  on  matters 
that  do  not  concern  them  seldom  fail  to  extract 
direct  answers,  but  in  my  lack  of  this  enviable  gift 
I  went  home  in  the  dark  as  to  what  had  befallen 
my  landlord,  and-  fully  aware  of  how  my  wife 
would  despise  me  for  my  shortcomings.  Philippa 
always  says  that  she  never  asks  questions,  but  she 
seems  none  the  less  to  get  a  lot  of  answers. 

On  my  own  avenue  I  met  Miss  Sally  Knox  riding 
away  from  the  house  on  her  white  cob  ;  she  had 
found  no  one  at  home,  and  she  would  not  turn 
back  with  me,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  be  in  any 
hurry  to  ride  away.  I  told  her  that  I  had  just  been 
over  to  see  her  relative,  Mr.  Knox,  who  had  in- 
formed me  that  he  meant  to  give  up  the  hounds, 
a  fact  in  which  she  seemed  only  conventionally 
interested.  She  looked  pale,  and  her  eyelids  were 
slightly  pink  ;  I  checked  myself  on  the  verge  of 


286     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

asking  her  if  she  had  hay-fever,  and  inquired  in- 
stead if  she  had  heard  of  the  tenants'  dance  at 
Aussolas.  She  did  not  answer  at  first,  but  rubbed 
her  cane  up  and  down  the  cob's  clipped  toothbrush 
of  a  mane.  Then  she  said  : 

"  Major  Yeates — look  here — there's  a  most  awful 
row  at  home  1 " 

I  expressed  incoherent  regret,  and  wished  to  my 
heart  that  Philippa  had  been  there  to  cope  with 
the  situation. 

"  It  began  when  mamma  found  out  about  Flurry's 
racing  Sultan,  and  then  came  our  dance " 

Miss  Sally  stopped  ;  I  nodded,  remembering  cer- 
tain episodes  of  Lady  Knox's  dance. 

"  And — mamma  says — she  says " 

I  waited  respectfully  to  hear  what  mamma  had 
said ;  the  cob  fidgeted  under  the  attentions  of  the 
horseflies,  and  nearly  trod  on  my  toe. 

"Well,  the  end  of  it  is,"  she  said  with  a  gulp, 
"  she  said  such  things  to  Flurry  that  he  can't  come 
near  the  house  again,  and  I'm  to  go  over  to 
England  to  Aunt  Dora,  next  week.  Will  you  tell 
Philippa  I  came  to  say  good-bye  to  her  ?  I  don't 
think  I  can  get  over  here  again." 

Miss  Sally  was  a  sufficiently  old  friend  of  mine 
for  me  to  take  her  hand  and  press  it  in  a  fatherly 
manner,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  think 
of  anything  to  say,  unless  I  expressed  my  sympathy 
with  her  mother's  point  of  view  about  detrimentals, 
which  was  ^obviously  not  the  thing  to  do. 

Philippa  accorded  to  my  news  the  rare  tribute 
of  speechless  attention,  and  then  was  despicable 


Oh  Love/  Oh  Fire  I  287 

enough  to  say  that  she  had  foreseen  the  whole 
affair  from  the  beginning. 

"From  the  day  that  she  refused  him  in  the 
ice-house,  I  suppose,"  said  I  sarcastically. 

"  That  was  the  beginning,"  replied  Philippa. 

"Well,"  I  went  on  judicially,  "whenever  it 
began,  it  was  high  time  for  it  to  end.  She  can 
do  a  good  deal  better  than  Flurry." 

Philippa  became  rather  red  in  the  face. 

"  I  call  that  a  thoroughly  commonplace  thing 
to  say,"  she  said.  "  I  dare  say  he  has  not  many 
ideas  beyond  horses,  but  no  more  has  she,  and 
he  really  does  come  and  borrow  books  from 
me " 

"Whitaker's  Almanack,"  I  murmured. 

"Well,  I  don't  care,  I  like  him  very  much,  and 
I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,  and  you're  wrong, 
and  I'll  tell  you  why " 

Here  Mrs.  Cadogan  came  into  the  room,  her 
cap  at  rather  more  than  its  usual  warlike  angle 
over  her  scarlet  forehead,  and  in  her  hand  a  kitchen 
plate,  on  which  a  note  was  ceremoniously  laid 
forth. 

"  But  this  is  for  you,  Mrs.  Cadogan,"  said  Philippa, 
as  she  looked  at  it. 

"  Ma'am,"  returned  Mrs.  Cadogan  with  immense 
dignity,  "  I  have  no  learning,  and  from  what  the 
young  man's  afther  telling  me  that  brought  it  from 
Aussola§,  I'd  sooner  yerself  read  it  for  me  than 
thim  gerrls." 

My  wife  opened  the  envelope,  and  drew  forth  a 
gilt-edged  sheet  of  pink  paper, 


288     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  Miss  Margaret  Nolan  presents  her  compliments 
to  Mrs.  Cadogan,"  she  read,  "and  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  telling  you  that  the  servants  of  Aussolas 
is  inviting  you  and  Mr.  Peter  Cadogan,  Miss  Mul- 
rooney,  and  Miss  Gallagher" — Philippa's  voice 
quavered  perilously — "  to  a  dance  on  next  Wednes- 
day. Dancing  to  begin  at  seven  o'clock,  and  to 
go  on  till  five.  —  Yours  affectionately,  MAGGIE 
NOLAN." 

"  How  affectionate  she  is  1 "  snorted  Mrs.  Cado- 
gan  ;  "  them's  Dublin  manners,  I  dare  say  ! " 

"  P.S.,"  continued  Philippa  ;  "  steward,  Mr.  Denis 
O'Loughlin;  stewardess,  Mrs.  Mahony." 

"  Thoughtful  provision,"  I  remarked ;  "  I  sup- 
pose Mrs.  Mahony's  duties  will  begin  after  supper." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Cadogan,"  said  Philippa,  quelling 
me  with  a  glance,  "  I  suppose  you'd  all  like  to 
go?" 

"As  for  dancin',"  said  Mrs.  Gadogan,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  a  level  with  the  curtain-pole,  "  I 
thank  God  I'm  a  widow,  and  the  only  dancin'  I'll 
do  is  to  dance  to  my  grave." 

"Well,  perhaps  Julia,  and  Annie,  and  Peter " 

suggested  Philippa,  considerably  overawed. 

"I'm  not  one  of  them  that  holds  with  loud 
mockery  and  harangues,"  continued  Mrs.  Cadogan, 
"but  if  I  had  any  wish  for  dhrawing  down  talk 
I  could  tell  you,  ma'am,  that  the  like  o'  them  has 
their  share  of  dances  without  going  to  Aussolas ! 
Wasn't  it  only  last  Sunday  week  I  wint  follyin'  the 
turkey  that's  layin'  out  in  the  plantation,  and  the 
whole  o'  thim  hysted  their  sails  and  back  with 


Oh  Love/  Oh  Fire/  289 

them  to  their  lovers  at  the  gate-house,  and  the 
kitchenmaid  having  a  Jew-harp  to  be  playing  for 
them  ! " 

"That  was  very  wrong,"  said  the  truckling 
.Philippa.  "I  hope  you  spoke  to  the  kitchenmaid 
about  it." 

"  Is  it  spake  to  thim  ? "  rejoined  Mrs.  Cadogan. 
"No,  but  what  I  done  was  to  dhrag  the  kitchen- 
maid  round  the  passages  by  the  hair  o'  the  head  !  " 

"  Well,  after  that,  I  think  you  might  let  her  go  to 
Aussolas,"  said  I  venturously.  . 

The  end  of  it  was  that  every  one  in  and  about 
the  house  went  to  Aussolas  on  the  following 
Wednesday,  including  Mrs.  Cadogan.  Philippa 
had  gone  over  to  stay  at  the  Shutes,  ostensibly  to 
arrange  about  a  jumble  sale,  the  real  object  being 
(as  a  matter  of  history)  to  inspect  the  Scotch  young 
lady  before  whom  Bernard  Shute  had  dumped  his 
affections  in  his  customary  manner.  Being  alone, 
with  every  prospect  of  a  bad  dinner,  I  accepted 
with  gratitude  an  invitation  to  dine  and  sleep  at 
Aussolas  and  see  the  dance ;  it  is  only  on  very 
special  occasions  that  I  have  the  heart  to  remind 
Philippa  that  she  had  neither  part  nor  lot  in  what 
occurred  —  it  is  too  serious  a  matter  for  trivial 
gloryings. 

Mrs.  Knox  had  asked  me  to  dine  at  six  o'clock, 
which  meant  that  I  arrived,  in  blazing  sunlight 
and  evening  clothes,  punctually  at  that  hour,  and 
that  at  seven  o'clock  I  was  still  sitting  in  the  library, 
reading  heavily-bound  classics,  while  my  hostess 
held  loud  conversations  down  staircases  with  Denis 

.  T 


290     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

O'Loughlin,  the  red-bearded  Robinson  Crusoe  who 
combined  in  himself  the  offices  of  coachman,  butler, 
and,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  valet  to  the  lady  o£ 
the  house.  The  door  opened  at  last,  and  Denis, 
looking  as  furtive  as  his  prototype  after  he  had 
sighted  the  footprint,  put  in  his  head  and  beckoned 
to  me. 

"The  misthress  says  will  ye  go  to  dinner  with- 
out her,"  he  said  very  confidentially ;  "  sure  she's 
greatly  vexed  ye  should  be  waitin'  on  her.  'Twas 
the  kitchen  chimney  cot  fire,  and  faith  she's  afther 
giving  Biddy  Mahony  the  sack,  on  the  head  of  it  ! 
Though,  indeed,  'tis  little  we'd  regard  a  chimney 
on  fire  here  any  other  day." 

Mrs.  Knox's  woolly  dog  was  the  sole  occupant 
of  the  dining-room  when  I  entered  it ;  he  was 
sitting  on  his  mistress's  chair,  with  all  the  air  of 
outrage  peculiar  to  a  small  and  self -important 
dog  when  routine  has  been  interfered  with.  It 
was  difficult  to  discover  what  had  caused  the 
delay,  the  meal,  not  excepting  the  soup,  being 
a  cold  collation ;  it  was  heavily  flavoured  with 
soot,  and  was  hurled  on  to  the  table  by  Crusoe 
in  spasmodic  bursts,  contemporaneous,  no  doubt, 
with  Biddy  Mahony's  fits  of  hysterics  in  the 
kitchen.  Its  most  memorable  feature  was  a  noble 
lake  trout,  which  appeared  in  two  jagged  pieces, 
a  matter  lightly  alluded  to  by  Denis  as  the  result 
of  "a  little  argument"  between  himself  and  Biddy 
as  to  the  dish  on  which  it  was  to  be  served. 
Further  conversation  elicited  the  interesting  fact 
that  the  combatants  had  pulled  the  trout  in  two 


0/2  Love/  Oh  Fire! 


291 


before  the  matter  was  settled.     A  brief  glance  at 
my  attendant's  hands  decided  me  to  let  the  woolly 


THE  MEAL  WAS  HURLED  ON  TO  THE  TABLE  BY  CRUSOE 


dog  justify  his  existence  by  consuming  my  portion 
for  me,  when  Crusoe  left  the  room. 

Old  Mrs.  Knox  remained  invisible  till  the  end 


292     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

of  dinner,  when  she  appeared  in  the  purple  velvet 
bonnet  that  she  was  reputed  to  have  worn  since 
the  famine,  and  a  dun-coloured  woollen  shawl 
fastened  by  a  splendid  diamond  brooch,  that 
flashed  rainbow  fire  against  the  last  shafts  of 
sunset.  There  was  a  fire  in  the  old  lady's  eye, 
too,  the  light  that  I  had  sometimes  seen  in  Flurry's 
in  moments  of  crisis. 

"I  have  no  apologies  to  offer  that  are  worth 
hearing,"  she  said,  "but  I  have  come  to  drink  a 
glass  of  port  wine  with  you,  if  you  will  so  far 
honour  me,  and  then  we  must  go  out  and  see 
the  ball.  My  grandson  is  late,  as  usual." 

She  crumbled  a  biscuit  with  a  brown  and 
preoccupied  hand ;  her  claw-like  fingers  carried 
a  crowded  sparkle  of  diamonds  upwards  as  she 
raised  her  glass  to  her  lips. 

The  twilight  was  falling  when  we  left  the  room 
and  made  our  way  downstairs.  I  followed  the 
little  figure  in  the  purple  bonnet  through  dark 
regions  of  passages  and  doorways,  where  strange 
lumber  lay  about ;  there  was  a  rusty  suit  of 
armour,  an  upturned  punt,  mouldering  pictures, 
and  finally,  by  a  door  that  opened  into  the  yard, 
a  lady's  bicycle,  white  with  the  dust  of  travel. 
I  supposed  this  latter  to  have  been  imported  from 
Dublin  by  the  fashionable  Miss  Maggie  Nolan,  but 
on  the  other  hand  it  was  well  within  the  bounds 
of  possibility  that  it  belonged  to  old  Mrs.  Knox. 
The  coach-house  at  Aussolas  was  on  a  par  with  the 
rest  of  the  establishment,  being  vast,  dilapidated, 
and  of  unknown  age.  Its  three  double  doors  were 


Oh  Love/  Oh  Fire!  293 

wide  open,  and  the  guests  overflowed  through 
them  into  the  cobble-stoned  yard ;  above  their 
heads  the  tin  reflectors  of  paraffin  lamps  glared 
at  us  from  among  the  Christmas  decorations  of 
holly  and  ivy  that  festooned  the  walls.  The 
voices  of  a  fiddle  and  a  concertina,  combined, 
were  uttering  a  polka  with  shrill  and  hideous 
fluency,  to  which  the  scraping  and  stamping  of 
hobnailed  boots  made  a  ponderous  bass  accom- 
paniment. 

Mrs.  Knox's  donkey-chair  had  been  placed  in 
a  commanding  position  at  the  top  of  the  room, 
and  she  made  her  way  slowly  to  it,  shaking  hands 
with  all  varieties  of  tenants  and  saying  right  things 
without  showing  any  symptom  of  'that  flustered 
boredom  that  I  have  myself  exhibited  when  I 
went  round  the  men's  messes  on  Christmas  Day. 
She  took  her  seat  in  the  donkey-chair,  with  the 
white  dog  in  her  lap,  and  looked  with  her  hawk's 
eyes  round  the  array  of  faces  that  hemmed  in 
the  space  where  the  dancers  were  solemnly  bobbing 
and  hopping. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  who  that  tomfool  is,  Denis  ?  " 
she  said,  pointing  to  a  young  lady  in  a  ball  dress 
who  was  circling  in  conscious  magnificence  and 
somewhat  painful  incongruity  in  the  arms  of  Mr. 
Peter  Cadogan. 

"  That's  the  lady's-maid  from  Castle  Knox,  yer 
honour,  ma'am,"  replied  Denis,  with  something 
remarkably  like  a  wink  at  Mrs.  Knox. 

"  When  did  the  Castle  Knox  servants  come  ? " 
asked  the  old  lady,  very  sharply. 


294     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  The  same  time  yer  honour  left  the  table,  and 
Pillilew  !  What's  this  ?  " 

There  was  a  clatter  of  galloping  hoofs  in  the 
courtyard,  as  of  a  troop  of  cavalry,  and  out  of 
the  heart  of  it  Flurry's  voice  shouting  to  Denis 
to  drive  out  the  colts  and  shut  the  gates  before 
they  had  the  people  killed.  I  noticed  that  the 
colour  had  risen  to  Mrs.  Knox's  face,  and  I  put 
it  down  to  anxiety  about  her  young  horses.  I 
may  admit  that  when  I  heard  Flurry's  voice, 
and  saw  him  collaring  his  grandmother's  guests 
and  pushing  them  out  of  the  way  as  he  came 
into  the  coach-house,  I  rather  feared  that  he  was 
in  the  condition  so  often  defined  to  me  at  Petty 
Sessions  as  "  not  dhrunk,  but  having  dhrink  taken." 
His  face  was  white,  his  eyes  glittered,  there  was 
a  general  air  of  exaltation  about  him  that  sug- 
gested the  solace  of  the  pangs  of  love  according 
to  the  most  ancient  convention. 

"Hullo  !"  he  said,  swaggering  up  to  the 
orchestra,  "  what's  this  humbugging  thing  they're 
playing  ?  A  polka,  is  it  ?  Drop  that,  John  Casey, 
and  play  a  jig." 

John  Casey  ceased  abjectly. 

"  What'll  I  play,  Masther  Flurry  ?  " 

"What  the  devil  do  I  care?  Here,  Yeates, 
put  a  name  on  it !  You're  a  sort  of  musicianer 
yourself  1 " 

I  know  the  names  of  three  or  four  Irish  jigs  ; 
but  on  this  occasion  my  memory  clung  exclusively 
to  one,  I  suppose  because  it  was  the  one  I  felt 
to  be  peculiarly  inappropriate. 


Oh  Love/  Oh  Fire!  295 

"Oh,  well,  '  Haste  to  the  Wedding,'"  I  said, 
looking  away. 

Flurry  gave  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"  That's  it ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Play  it  up,  John  ! 
Give  us  '  Haste  to  the  Wedding.'  That's  Major 
Yeates's  fancy  1 " 

Decidedly  Flurry  was  drunk. 

"What's  wrong  with  you  all  that  you  aren't 
dancing  ? "  he  continued,  striding  up  the  middle 
of  the  room.  "  Maybe  you  don't  know  how. 
Here,  I'll  soon  get  one  that'll  show  you  1 " 

He  advanced  upon  his  grandmother,  snatched 
her  out  of  the  donkey-chair,  and,  amid  roars 
of  applause,  led  her  out,  while  the  fiddle  squealed 
its  way  through  the  inimitable  twists  of  the  tune, 
and  the  concertina  surged  and  panted  after  it. 
Whatever  Mrs.  Knox  may  have  thought  of  her 
grandson's  behaviour,  she  was  evidently  going 
to  make  the  best  of  it.  She  took  her  station 
opposite  to  him,  in  the  purple  bonnet,  the  dun- 
coloured  shawl,  and  the  diamonds,  she  picked 
up  her  skirt  at  each  side,  affording  a  view  of 
narrow  feet  in  elastic-sided  cloth  boots,  and  for 
three  repeats  of  the  tune  she  stood  up  to  her 
grandson,  and  footed  it  on  the  coach-house 
floor.  What  the  cloth  boots  did  I  could  not 
exactly  follow ;  they  were,  as  well  as  I  could 
see,  extremely  scientific,  while  there  was  hardly 
so  much  as  a  nod  from  the  plumes  of  *he 
bonnet.  Flurry  was  also  scientific,  but  his  dancing 
did  not  alter  my  opinion  that  he  was  drunk ; 
in  fact,  I  thought  he  was  making  rather  an 


296     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

exhibition  of  himself.  They  say  that  that  jig 
was  twenty  pounds  in  Mrs.  Knox's  pocket  at 
the  next  rent  day  ;  but  though  this  statement  is 
open  to  doubt,  I  believe  that  if  she  and  Flurry 
had  taken  the  hat  round  there  and  then  .she 
would  have  got  in  the  best  part  of  her  arrears. 

After  this  the  company  settled  down  to  busi- 
ness. The  dances  lasted  a  sweltering  half-hour, 
old  wromen  and  young  dancing  with  equal  and 
tireless  zest.  At  the  end  of  each  the  gentlemen 
abandoned  their  partners  without  ceremony  or 
comment,  and  went  out  to  smoke,  while  the 
ladies  retired  to  the  laundry,  where  families  of 
teapots  stewed  on  the  long  bars  of  the  fire,  and 
Mrs.  Mahony  cut  up  mighty  "  barm-bracks,"  and 
the  tea-drinking  was  illimitable. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Knox  withdrew  from  the 
revel ;  she  said  that  she  was  tired,  but  I  have 
seldom  seen  any  one  look  more  wide  awake.  I 
thought  that  I  might  unobtrusively  follow  her 
example,  but  I  was  intercepted  by  Flurry. 

"  Yeates,"  he  said  seriously,  "  I'll  take  it  as  a 
kindness  if  you'll  see  this  thing  out  with  me. 
We  must  keep  them  pretty  sober,  and  get  them 
out  of  this  by  daylight.  I — I  have  to  get  home 
early." 

I  at  once  took  back  my  opinion  that  Flurry  was 
drunk ;  I  almost  wished  he  had  been,  as  I  could 
then  have  deserted  him  without  a  pang.  As  it  was, 
I  addressed  myself  heavily  to  the  night's  enjoyment. 
Wan  with  heat,  but  conscientiously  cheerful,  I 
danced  with  Miss  Maggie  Nolan,  with  the  Castle 


Oh  Love/  Oh  Fire!  197 

Knox  lady's-maid,  with  my  own  kitchenmaid,  wrho 
fell  into  wild  giggles  of  terror  whenever  I  spoke  io 
her,  with  Mrs.  Cadogan,  who  had  apparently  post- 
poned the  interesting  feat  of  dancing  to  her  grave, 
and  did  what  she  could  to  dance  me  into  mine. 
I  am  bound  to  admit  that  though  an  ex-soldier 
and  a  major,  and  therefore  equipped  with  a  ready- 
made  character  for  gallantry,  Mrs.  Cadogan  was 
the  only  one  of  my  partners  with  whom  I  con- 
versed with  any  comfort. 

At  intervals  I  smoked  cigarettes  in  the  yard, 
seated  on  the  old  mounting-block  by  the  gate,  and 
overheard  such  conversation  about  the  price  of 
pigs  in  Skebawn  ;  at  intervals  I  plunged  again  into 
the  coach-house,  and  led  forth  a  perspiring  wall- 
flower into  the  scrimmage  of  a  polka,  or  shuffled 
meaninglessly  opposite  to  her  in  the  long  double 
line  of  dancers  who  were  engaged  with  serious 
faces  in  executing  a  jig  or  a  reel,  I  neither  knew 
nor  cared  which.  Flurry  remained  as  undefeated 
as  ever  ;  I  could  only  suppose  it  was  his  method  of 
showing  that  his  broken  heart  had  mended. 

"  It's  time  to  be  making  the  punch,  Masther 
Flurry,"  said  Denis,  as  the  harness-room  clock 
struck  twelve ;  "  sure  the  night's  warm,  and  the 
men's  all  gaping  for  it,  the  craytures  ! " 

"What'll  we  make  it  in?"  said  Flurry,  as  we 
followed  him  into  the  laundry. 

"The  boiler,  to  be  sure,"  said  Crusoe,  taking  up 
a  stone  of  sugar,  and  preparing  to  shoot  it  into  the 
laundry  copper. 

"  Stop,  you  fool,  it's  full  of  cockroaches  1 '  shouted 


298     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

Flurry,  amid  sympathetic  squalls  from  the  throng 
of  countrywomen.  "  Go  get  a  bath  ! " 

"  Sure  yerself  knows  there's  but  one  bath  in  it," 
retorted  Denis,  "and  that's  within  in  the  Major's 
room.  Faith,  the  tinker  got  his  own  share  yesther- 
clay  with  the  same  bath,  sthriving  to  quinch  the 
holes,  and  they  as  thick  in  it  as  the  stars  in  the  sky, 
and  'tis  weeping  still,  afther  all  he  done  ! " 

"  Well,  then,  here  goes  for  the  cockroaches ! " 
said  Flurry.  "What  doesn't  sicken  will  fatten  ! 
Give  me  the  kettle,  and  come  on,  you  Kitty  Collins, 
and  be  skimming  them  off  ! " 

There  were  no  complaints  of  the  punch  when 
the  brew  was  completed,  and  the  dance  thundered 
on  with  a  heavier  stamping  and  a  louder  hilarity 
than  before.  The  night  wore  on  ;  I  squeezed 
through  the  unyielding  pack  of  frieze  coats  and 
shawls  in  the  doorway,  and  with  feet  that 
momently  swelled  in  my  pumps  I  limped  over 
the  cobble-stones  to  smoke  my  eighth  cigarette 
on  the  mounting-block.  It  was  a  dark,  hot  night. 
The  old  castle  loomed  above  me  in  piled-up  roofs 
and  gables,  and  high  up  in  it  somewhere  a  window 
sent  a  shaft  of  light  into  the  sleeping  leaves  of 
a  walnut-tree  that  overhung  the  gateway.  At 
the  bars  of  the  gate  two  young  horses  peered 
in  at  the  medley  of  noise  and  people  ;  away  in 
an  outhouse  a  cock  crew  hoarsely.  The  gaiety 
in  the  coach-house  increased  momently,  till,  amid 
shrieks  and  bursts  of  laughter,  Miss  Maggie  Nolan 
fled  coquettishly  from  it  with  a  long  yell,  like  a 
train  coming  out  of  a  tunnel,  pursued  by  the 


Oh  Love/  Oh  Fire!  299 

fascinating  Peter  Cadogan  brandishing  a  twig  of 
mountain  ash,  in  imitation  of  mistletoe.  The 
young  horses  stampeded  in  horror,  and  immedi- 
ately a  voice  proceeded  from  the  lighted  window 
above,  Mrs.  Knox's  voice,  demanding  what  the 
noise  was,  and  announcing  that  if  she  heard  any 
more  of  it  she  would  have  the  place  cleared. 

An  awful  silence  fell,  to  which  the  young  horses' 
fleeing  hoofs  lent  the  final  touch  of  consternation. 
Then  I  heard  the  irrepressible  Maggie  Nolan  say: 
"  Oh  God  !.  Merry-come-sad  !  "  which  I  take  to 
be  a  reflection  on  the  mutability  of  all  earthly 
happiness. 

Mrs.  Knox  remained  for  a  moment  at  the 
window,  and  it  struck  me  as  remarkable  that  at 
2.30  A.M.  she  should  still  have  on  her  bonnet.  I 
thought  I  heard  her  speak  to  some  one  in  the 
room,  and  there  followed  a  laugh,  a  laugh  that 
was  not  a  servant's,  and  was  puzzlingly  familiar. 
I  gave  it  up,  and  presently  dropped  into  a 
cheerless  doze. 

With  the  dawn  there  came  a  period  when  even 
Flurry  showed  signs  of  failing.  He  came  and 
sat  down  beside  me  with  a  yawn  ;  it  struck  me 
that  there  was  more  impatience  and  nervousness 
than  fatigue  in  the  yawn. 

"  I  think  I'll  turn  them  all  out  of  this  after  the 
next  dance  is  over,"  he  said  ;  "  I've  a  lot  to  do,  and 
I  .can't  stay  here." 

I  grunted  in  drowsy  approval.  It  must  have 
been  a  few  minutes  later  that  I  felt  Flurry  grip 
my  shoulder. 


300     Some  .Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"  Yeates ! "  he  sard,  "  look  up  at  the  roof. 
Do  you  see  anything  up  there  by  the  kitchen 
chimney  ?  " 

He.  was  pointing  at  a  heavy  stack  of  chimneys 
in  a  tower  that  stood  up  against  the  grey  and  pink 
of  the  morning  sky.  At  the  angle  where  one  of 
them  joined  the  roof  smoke  was  oozing  busily 
out,  and,  as  I  stared,  a  little  wisp  of  flame  stole 
through. 

The  next  thing  that  I  distinctly  remember  is 
being  in  the  van  of  a  rush  through  the  kitchen 
passages,  every  one  shouting  "  Water  1  Water  !  "' 
and  not  knowing  where  to  find  it,  then  up  several 
flights  of  the  narrowest  and  darkest  stairs  it  has 
ever  been  my  fate  to  ascend,  with  a  bucket  of 
water  that  I  snatched  from  a  woman,  spilling 
as  I  ran.  At  the  top  of  the  stairs  came  a  ladder 
leading  to  a  trap-door,  and  up  in  the  dark  loft  above 
was  the  roar  and  the  wavering  glare  of  flames. 

"  My  God  !  That's  sthrong  fire  ! "  shouted  Denis, 
tumbling  down  the  ladder  with  a  brace  of  empty 
buckets ;  "  we'll  never  save  it !  The  lake  won't 
quinch  it ! " 

The  flames  were  squirting  out  through  the 
bricks  of  the  chimney,  through  the  timbers, 
through  the  slates ;  it  was  barely  possible  to  get 
through  the  trap-door,  and  the  booming  and 
crackling  strengthened  every  instant. 

"A  chain  to  the  lake  !"  gasped  Flurry,  coughing 
in  the  stifling  heat  as  he  slashed  the  water  at 
the  blazing  rafters  ;  "  the  well's  no  good  !  Go  on, 
Yeates  I " 


Oh  Love/  Oh  Fire/  301 

The  organising  of  a  double  chain  out  of  the 
mob  that  thronged  and  shouted  and  jammed  in 
the  passages  and  yard  was  no  mean  feat  of 
generalship ;  but  it  got  done  somehow.  Mrs. 
Cadogan  and  Biddy  Mahony  rose  .magnificently 
to  the  occasion,  cursing,  thumping,  shoving ;  and 
stable  buckets,  coal  buckets,  milk  pails,  and  kettles 
were  unearthed  and  sent  swinging  down  the 
grass  slope  to  the  lake  that  lay  in  glittering  un- 
concern in  the  morning  sunshine.  Men,  women, 
and  children  worked  in  a  way  that  only  Irish 
people  can  work  on  an  emergency.  All  their 
cleverness,  all  their  good-heartedness,  and  all 
their  love  of  a  ruction  came  to  the  front ;  the, 
screaming  and  the  exhortations  were  incessant, 
but  so  were  also  the  buckets  that  flew  from 
hand  to  hand  -up  to  the  loft.  I  hardly  know  how 
long  we  were  at  it,  but  there  came  a  time  when 
I  looked  up  from  the  yard  and  saw  that  the 
billows  of  reddened  smoke  from  the  top  of  the 
tower  were  dying  down,  and  I  bethought  me  of 
old  Mrs.  Knox. 

I  found  her  at  the  door  of  her  room,  engaged 
in  tying  up  a  bundle  of  old  clothes  in  a  sheet ; 
she  looked  as  white  as  a  corpse,  but  she  was  not 
in  any  way  quelled  by  the  situation. 

"  I'd  be  obliged  to  you  all  the  same,  Major 
Yeates,  to  throw  this  over  the  balusters,"  she 
said,  as  I  advanced  with  the  news  that  the  fire 
had  been  got  under.  "Ton  my  honour,  I  don't 
know  when  I've  been  as  vexed  as  I've  been  this 
night,  what  with  one  thing  and  another  1  'Tis 


302     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

a  monstrous  thing  to  use  a  guest  as  we've  used 
you,  but  what  could  we  do  ?  I  threw  all  the 
silver  out  of  the  dining-room  window  myself, 
and  the  poor  peahen  that  had  her  nest  there 
was  hurt  by  an  entree  dish,  and  half  her  eggs 
were " 

There  was  a  curious  sound  not  unlike  a  titter 
in  Mrs.  Knox's  room. 

"  However,  we  can't  make  omelettes  without 
breaking  eggs — as  they  say — "  she  went  on  rather 
hurriedly;  "I  declare  I  don't  know  what  I'm 
saying  !  My  old  head  is  confused — — " 

Here  Mrs.  Knox  went  abruptly  into  her  room 
and  shut  the  door.  Obviously  there  was  nothing 
further  to  do  for  my  hostess,  and  I  fought  my 
way  up  the  dripping  back  staircase  to  the  loft. 
The  flames  had  ceased,  the  supply  of  buckets 
had  been  stopped,  and  Flurry,  standing  on  a 
ponderous  crossbeam,  was  poking  his  head  and 
shoulders  out  into  the  sunlight  through  the  hole 
that  had  been  burned  in  the  roof.  Denis  and 
others  were  pouring  water  over  charred  beams, 
the  atmosphere  was  still  stifling,  everything  was 
black,  everything  dripped  with  inky  water.  Flurry 
descended  from  his  beam  and  stretched  himself, 
looking  like  a  drowned  chimney-sweep. 

"  We've  made  a  night  of  it,  Yeates,  haven't 
we  ? "  he  said,  "  but  we've  bested  it  anyhow. 
We  were  done  for  only  for  you!"  There  was 
more  emotion  about  him  than  the  occasion  seemed 
to  warrant,  and  his  eyes  had  a  Christy  Minstrel 
brightness,  not  wholly  to  be  attributed  to  the 


Oh  Love!  Oh  Fire/  303 

dirt  on  his  face.  "  What's  the  time  ? — I  must  get 
home." 

The  time,  incredible  as  it  seemed,  was  half-past 
six.  I  could  almost  have  sworn  that  Flurry 
changed  colour  when  I  said  so. 

"I  must  be  off,"  he  said  ;  "  I  had  no  idea  it  was 
so  late." 

"Why,  what's  the  hurry  ?"  I  asked. 

He  stared  at  me,  laughed  foolishly,  and  fell 
to  giving  directions  to  Denis.  Five  minutes  after- 
wards he  drove  out  of  the  yard  and  away  at  a 
canter  down  the  long  stretch  of  avenue  that  skirted 
the  lake,  with  a  troop  of  young  horses  flying  on 
either  hand.  He  whirled  his  whip  round  his  head 
and  shouted  at  them,  and  was  lost  to  sight  in  a 
clump  of  trees.  It  is  a  vision  of  him  that  remains 
with  me,  and  it-  always  carried  with  it  the  bitter 
smell  of  wet  charred  wood. 

Reaction  had  begun  to  set  in  among  the  volun- 
teers. The  chain  took  to  sitting  in  the  kitchen, 
cups  of  tea  began  mysteriously  to  circulate,  and 
personal  narratives  of  the  fire  were  already  fore- 
shadowing the  amazing  legends  that  have  since 
gathered  round  the  night's  adventure.  I  left  to 
Denis  the  task  of  clearing  the  house,  and  went 
up  to  change  my  wet  clothes,  with  a  feeling  that 
I  had  not  been  to  bed  for  a  year.  The  ghost 
of  a  waiter  who  had  drowned  himself  in  a  bog- 
hole  would  have  presented  a  cheerier  aspect  than 
I,  as  I  surveyed  myself  in  the  prehistoric  mirror 
in  my  room,  with  the  sunshine  falling  on  my 
unshorn  face  and  begrimed  shirt-front. 


304     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

I  made  my  toilet  at  considerable  length,  and, 
it  being  now  nearly  eight  o'clock,  went  down- 
stairs to  look  for  something  to  eat.  I  had  left 
the  house  humming  with  people ;  I  found  it 
silent  as  Pompeii.  The  sheeted  bundles  con- 
taining Mrs.  Knox's  wardrobe  were  lying  about 
the  hall ;  a  couple  of  ancestors  who  in  the  first 
alarm  had  been  dragged  from  the  walls  were 
leaning  drunkenly  against  the  bundles ;  last  night's 
dessert  was  still  on  -the  dining-room  table.  ,1 
went  out  on  to  the  hall-door  steps,  and  saw  the 
entree-dishes  in  a  glittering  heap  in  a  nasturtium 
bed,  and  realised  that  there  was  no  breakfast  for 
me  this  side  of  lunch  at  Shreelane. 

There  was  a  sound  of  wheels  on  the  avenue, 
and  a  brougham  came  into  view,  driving  fast  up 
the  long  open  stretch  by  the  lake.  It  was  the 
Castle  Knox  brougham,  driven  by  Norris,  whom 
I  had  last  seen  drunk  at  the  athletic  sports,  and 
as  it  drew  up  at  the  door  I  saw  Lady  Knox 
inside. 

"  It's  all  right,  the  fire's  out,"  I  said,  advancing 
genially  and  full  of  reassurance. 

"  What .  fire  ?  "  said  Lady  Knox,  regarding  me 
with  an  iron  countenance. 

I  explained. 

"Well,  as  the  house  isn't  burned  down,"  said 
Lady  Knox,  cutting  short  my  details,  "perhaps 
you  would  kindly  find  out  if  I  could  see  Mrs. 
Knox." 

Lady  Knox's  face  was  many  shades  redder 
than  usual.  I  began  to  understand  that  some- 


"  Oh  Love  !  Oh  Fire  !  "  305 

thing  awful  had  happened,  or  would  happen,  and 
I  wished  myself  safe  at  Shreelane,  with  the  bed- 
clothes over  my  head. 

"  If  'tis  for  the  misthress  you're  looking,  me 
lady,"  said  Denis's  voice  behind  me,  in  tones  of 
the  utmost  respect,  "she  went  out  to  the  kitchen 
garden  a  while  ago  to  get  a  blasht  o'  the  fresh  air 
afther  the  night.  Maybe  your  ladyship  would 
sit  inside  in  the  library  till  I  call  her  ?" 

Lady  Knox  eyed  Crusoe  suspiciously. 

"Thank  you,  I'll  fetch  her  myself,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,    sure,    that's    too    throuble "    began 

Denis. 

"  Stay  where  you  are  ! "  said  Lady  Knox,  in  a 
voice  like  the  slam  of  a  door. 

"  Bedad,  I'm  best  plased  she  went,"  whispered 
Denis,  as  Lady  Knox  set  forth  alone  down  the 
shrubbery  walk. 

"But  is  Mrs.  Knox  in  the  .garden  ?"  said  I. 

"The  Lord  preserve  your  innocence,  sir!"  re- 
plied Denis,  with  seeming  irrelevance. 

At  this  moment  I  became  aware  of  the  in- 
credible fact  that  Sally  Knox  was  silently  descend- 
ing the  stairs  ;  she  stopped  short  as  she  got  into 
the  hall,  and  looked  almost  wildly  at  me  and 
Denis.  Was  I  looking  at  her  wraith  ?  There 
was  again  a  sound  of  wheels  on  the  gravel ;  she 
went  to  the  hall  door,  outside  which  was  now 
drawn  up  Mrs.  Knox's  donkey-carriage,  as  well 
as  Lady  Knox's  brougham,  and,  as  if  overcome 
by  this  imposing  spectacle,  she  turned  back  and 
put  her  hands  over  her  face. 

u 


306     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

"She's  gone  round  to  the  garden,  asthore," 
said  Denis  in  a  hoarse  whisper ;  "  go  in  the 
donkey-carriage.  'Twill  be  all  right !  "  He  seized 
her  by  the  arm,  pushed  her  down  the  steps  and 
into  the  little  carriage,  pulled  up  the  hood  over 
her  to  its  furthest  stretch,  snatched  the  whip 
out  of  the  hand  of  the  broadly-grinning  Norris, 
and  with  terrific  objurgations  lashed  the  donkey 
into  a  gallop.  The  donkey -boy  grasped  the 
position,  whatever  it  might  be ;  he  took  up  the 
running  on  the  other  side,  and  the  donkey-carriage 
swung  away  down  the  avenue,  with  all  its  incon- 
gruous air  of  hooded  and  rowdy  invalidism. 

I  have  never  disguised  the  fact  that  I  am  a 
coward,  and  therefore  when,  at  this  dynamitical 
moment,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Lady  Knox's  hat 
over  a  laurustinus,  as  she  returned  at  high  speed 
from  the  garden,  I  slunk  into  the  house  and  faded 
away  round  the  dining-room  door. 

"This  minute  I  seen  the  misthress  going  down 
through  the  plantation  beyond,"  said  the  voice  of 
Crusoe  outside  the  window,  "and  I'm  afther  send- 
ing Johnny  Regan  to  her  with  the  little  carriage,  not 
to  put  any  more  delay  on  yer  ladyship.  Sure  you 
can  see  him  making  all  the  haste  he  can.  Maybe 
you'd  sit  inside  in  the  library  till  she  comes." 

Silence  followed.  I  peered  cautiously  round 
the  window  curtain.  Lady  Knox  was  looking 
defiantly  at  the  donkey -carriage  as  it  reeled  at 
top  speed  into  the  shades  of  the  plantation,  strenu- 
ously pursued  by  the  woolly  dog.  Norris  was 
regarding  his  horses'  ears  in  expressionless  re- 


"  Oh  Love  !  Oh  Fire  !  "  307 

spectability.  Denis  was  picking  up  the  enrre"e- 
dishes  with  decorous  solicitude.  Lady  Knox 
turned  and  came  into  the  house ;  she  passed  the 
dining-room  door  with  an  ominous  step,  and  went 
on  into  the  library. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  now  or  never  was  the 
moment  to  retire  quietly  to  my  room,  put  my 
things  into  my  portmanteau,  and 

Denis  rushed  into  the  room  with  the  entre"e- 
dishes  piled  up  to  his  chin. 

"  $he's  diddled  1 "  he  whispered,  crashing  them 
down  on  the  table.  He  came  at  me  with  his 
hand  out.  "Three  cheers  for  Masther  Flurry 
and  Miss  Sally,"  he  hissed,  wringing  my  hand 
up  and  down,  "and  'twas  yerself  called  for 
*  Haste  to  the  Weddin' '  last  night,  long  life  to 
ye  !  The  Lord  save  us  1  There's  the  misthress 
going  into  the  library  ! " 

Through  the  half-open  door  I  saw  old  Mrs, 
Knox  approach  the  library  from  the  staircase 
with  a  dignified  slowness ;  she  had  on  a  wedding 
garment,  a  long  white  burnous,  in  which  she 
might  easily  have  been  mistaken  for  a  small, 
stout  clergyman.  She  waved  back  Crusoe,  the 
door  closed  upon  her,  and  the  battle  of  giants 
was  entered  upon.  I  sat  down  —  it  was  all  I 
was  able  for — and  remained  for  a  full  minute 
in  stupefied  contemplation  of  the  entree-dishes. 

Perhaps  of  all  conclusions  to  a  situation  so 
portentous,  that  which  occurred  was  the  least 
possible.  Twenty  minutes  after  Mrs.  Knox  met 


308     Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish 

her  antagonist  I  was  summoned  from  strapping  my 
portmanteau  to  face  the  appalling  duty  of  escort- 
ing the  combatants,  in  Lady  Knox's  brougham,  to 
the  church  outside  the  back  gate,  to  which  Miss 
Sally  had  preceded  them  in  the  donkey-carriage.  I 


EVEN  FOUND   RICE   AND   THREW  IT 


pulled  myself  together,  went  down  stairs,  and  found 
that  the  millennium  had  suddenly  set  in.  It  had 
apparently  dawned  with  the  news  that  Aussolas 
and  all  things  therein  were  bequeathed  to  Flurry 
by  his  grandmother,  and  had  established  itself 
finally  upon  the  considerations  that  the  marriage 


"  Oh  Love  !  Oh  Fire  !  "  309 

was  past  praying  for,  and  that  the  diamonds  were 
intended  for  Miss  Sally. 

We  fetched  the  bride  and  bridegroom  from  the 
church  ;  we  fetched  old  Eustace  Hamilton,  who 
married  them ;  we  dug  out.  the  champagne  from 
the  cellar ;  we  even  found  rice  and  threw  it. 

The  hired  carriage  that  had  been  ordered  to 
take  the  runaways  across  country  to  a  distant 
station  was  driven  by  Slipper.  He  was  shaved ; 
he  wore  an  old  livery  coat  and  a  new  pot  hat  ; 
he  was  wondrous  sober.  On  the  following  morn- 
ing he  was  found  asleep  on  a  heap  of  stones  ten 
miles  away ;  somewhere  in  the  neigbourhood 
one  of  the  horses  was  grazing  in  a  field  with  a 
certain  amount  of  harness  hanging  about  it.  The 
carriage  and  the  remaining  horse  were  discovered 
in  a  roadside  ditch,  two  miles  farther  on  ;  one 
of  the  carriage  doors  had  been  torn  off,  and 
in  the  interior  the  hens  of  the  vicinity  were  con- 
ducting an  exhaustive  search  after  the  rice  that 
lurked  in  the  cushions. 


THE   END 


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forerunners.  It  abounds  in  vivid  pictures  ...  it  contains  a  chapter  on 
D  gs  and  another  on  Horses  and  Hounds,  and  in  the  latter  will  be  found 
vignettes  as  entrancing  as  any  of  the  old  tales." 

Punch. — "  It  will  send  many  to  read  again  those  delightful  Volumes 
with  a  new  appreciation  of  the  sympathetic  and  lovable  personality  that 
helped  in  their  making." 


LONGMANS,  GREEN  AND  CO.,  39  PATERNOSTER  Row,  LONDON 
NEW  YORK,  BOMBAY,  CALCUTTA,  AND  MADRAS. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


walk 


APR    91975 


Form  L9-Series  444 


3  1158  00275  5972 


A     000286514     5 


